Saturday, 17 October 2015
Cleaning Windows - and the Effect on A Reluctant Housewife
As we now live in a double storey, free-standing house and I can't clean the upstairs windows outside, at least not without contorting myself from the inside and finding that I should have planned the opening sections for a right hand to curve round instead of a left - I have indulged in the luxury of a 3-monthly paid clean of all the outside windows. There is only one window cleaner in our small town and he is very busy: I haven't been able to get him to commit to a regular date, I have to haphazardly text him when I guess he may not be as busy as usual. This means that he arrives all of a sudden and I have to hare around closing the curtains before his 6-man crew swarm about with their ladders and catch us either in the shower, getting dressed or having breakfast. (He usually comes early). Also, being of a suspicious nature, I can hardly believe that they can finish in 10 minutes flat (which they do) and so I am obliged to go around checking their work after they have gone. This is only viable if I have cleaned all the inside windows myself just before they come or at least the day before, otherwise I can't know if the marks I am seeing are on 'my' side or 'theirs'. As you may know, I am possibly the world's worst housewife: I wouldn't normally notice any dirty windows until I actually can't see out, so it it takes a seismic event to make me tackle the whole lot in one day. Why doesn't my husband do it, I hear you ask? I guess it has always been my job while he was working (then we lived in a bungalow) and now that he doesn't, I have to confess he does more than his fair share of the jobs around the house. The dishwasher does the rest. I have perfected my method though: it involves a squidgee, dishwashing liquid, a very wide rubber scraper, a razor blade and a large pile of hand towels.