So one of the things I do when I’m trying to make myself feel better about the fact that I haven’t written anything for days is clean. I clean things because cleaning things is productive. Cleaning things is a worthwhile endeavour. Even when you live in the dustiest state on the dustiest continent. Cleaning things when you live in a place like Adelaide means that in three months time you won’t be sleeping in hollowed-out depressions in the thick layer of dust on your bed and you won’t be needing to shift the Dusty Ranges from the middle of the living room to off to the side somewhere so it doesn’t block your view of the TV.
The latest chore in my eternal quest to justify my failure to finish my rainforest-destroying work of pure genius? The window frames. We live in quite an old building. It was built in a time before aluminium window frames became standard. The windows are therefore held securely in place by bits of painted wood. There are lots of corners and the paint is coming off in some parts because whoever last painted the place doesn’t understand how painting actually works. I’m not making baseless accusations here. You can see through the single layer on the red “feature wall” (thank you Better Homes and Gardens), and the door frame on that wall got a liberal dose of the same crimson disaster, only there was no undercoat used there and if you’re not careful (or if you’re a habitual picker like I am) you can detach that single layer of red from the gloss paint it was slathered upon.
I’ve cleaned those frames before. Not long after we moved in, in fact, I was looking out the window, as you do, and I noticed the terrible state of the frames. So I got out my cleaning products and got to work. That was something in the region of eight months ago. Now living in the dustiest place on earth means that clean frames last only until the next time you open your window, but I could live with that. Then came the Great Procrastination. So I decided to clean them again. This time I had a secret weapon - my old toothbrush. Armed with that and a big bucket of very warm water I got to work.
I was scrubbing away at my first window (today, I did the bedroom yesterday) and a flash of movement caught my eye. Something was skittering across the window right next to where my head was. I glanced over, disinterested, before returning my attention to what my abused former toothbrush was doing. Every muscle in my body clenched. Reluctantly the ones controlling my eyes released and I looked back at the moving thing.
What I meant to say was something along the lines of “Oh f$#k Brendan there’s a massive spider right next to my head!” What actually came out was, “Aaaaaafuuuuubahaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.” It’s a word. Look it up. It’s there, you just have to kind of squint a little.
The Man of the House, true to form, made it two whole steps towards me before stopping dead in his tracks. “What is it? Are you okay?” All I could do was point at the spot right in the middle of one of the panes of glass where the thing had stopped so it was framed like a frigging picture and kind of ‘rabble’ at him like a severely traumatised gibbon. “Which side is it on?”
I wish I’d stopped to think about my answer. Instead out of my mouth popped the first thing to enter my head. The truth. “The outside,” I wailed.
Word to the unwise, MotH: If you want to be painted in a better light when I tell people about you, don’t laugh almost until you puke at things like that.
Tagged: domestic inconveniences, Fears & Neuroses.