Now I'm not exactly what you'd call a born housekeeper. As I've confessed before, I do love me some cleaning porn, but there's an enormous difference between study and application. While I'm only too thrilled to read magazine articles about the joys of removing lime scale from steel fittings, actually getting off my ass, buying the lime scale remover, putting on gloves, applying it, waiting the prescribed time, trying not to pass out from fumes while waiting the prescribed time, then sponging it off seems a bit too much like hard work for me. Hell, I could barely concentrate long enough to write it!
But every now and then it becomes glaringly obvious that my preferred housekeeping methods of denial and procrastination will no longer cut it. I'm forced to stand up, swallow a big old teaspoon of cement, harden the hell up, and just do whatever it is that's crying out for action. So this morning when I realised that the contents of the fridge were a tad greener than they should be, I fought back my apathy and stepped up.
Expired dairy products, left over take away and ridiculously old fruit and veg were all dumped unceremoniously into a garbage bag, then rushed out to the wheelie bin quick smart to avoid any unnecessary stinkiness. Condiment jars were carefully examined for expiration dates, and a serious debate was had between me and the feline cohabitator about whether the five day old sausage should go in the bin or in her bowl (she won).
But the real hurdle was the unidentifiable something I found hidden on the lowest shelf behind the two week old lettuce. It was impossible to work out what it used to be from a visual inspection, but I think it was either a small furry rodent or some left over Chinese food. If it was a rodent, then I'd guess it died in a fight to the death with the jar of minced garlic sitting next to it. If it was Chinese food, then guess it was combination chow mein.
But I suppose that's a mystery that will never be solved.