Housewife, I am not.

Yesterday, when I got home from work, I decided to submit myself to some torture by means of "deep cleaning" my entire apartment. It was a Wednesday, I was doing fine on energy, I had nothing else productive to accomplish, and my apartment hadn't been "deep cleaned" in about 6 months. It was time, to say the very least.

My idea of "deep cleaning" is something along the lines of doing more than just some light vacuuming, changing out the sheets, flipping on my Scentsy warmers, and shoving nonsense tchotchkes (definitely had to Google that to find the correct spelling) in drawers to make my little one bedroom, Princess Palace, appear clean and organized. I guess the only issue with my typical method of cleaning would be that I'm not really doing much cleaning and my mess still continues to grow even though I convince myself I've taken care of it. My bad.

Dusting. Who does that? 

Vacuuming behind things. Really, who does that?

Wet Swiffering the floors... HA. HAHA.  

Oh, and yesterday I found out that removing the cushions from the couch and cleaning under them is actually something adults do. Or are supposed to do. Get outta town, Sweet Brown. 

But I did it. I did it all yesterday. Actually, that's a complete lie because I didn't even make it to my kitchen or the horrifying mountain of laundry I've got going on in my closet. But, after four solid hours of cleaning, a few really questionable finds, and back pain that could bring a sumo wrestler to tears, I was over it and I needed all of the wines pronto. It was then I understood exactly why people pay other people to come do all of this nonsense around the house for them. 

Well, quite actually, it might have been the strange array of stuff I managed to find in the abyss of my grey couch that really made me understand why people pay other people to come clean for them. I don't even feel comfortable going into detail about exactly what it was that I found under there, mostly out of respect for my immediate family and just how embarrassing it would be for them to claim me once I admitted to said sofa filth. Let's just say that one year of couch use equals you need to clean under that shit.

So, yeah, housewife I am not.

Also, if your vacuum is on the "hard floor" setting, it will not work on your carpet. Which will lead you to find more disgusting nonsense while trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with your vacuum, all while in reality nothing is wrong at all. Great. 

I really need to train these dogs how to clean. It's the least they could do after the roof over their furry heads that I provide, as well as the consistent meals and turkey jerky. At least I think that would be the fair trade. 

Then again, I'm still trying to train Ella to refill my wine glass for me. Which is still a work in progress, if you were wondering.

Go clean under your couch cushions. 

Just be careful, you never know what could be waiting to bite your hand off for you under there.