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Mr. Clean Isn't Real


I can't think of any woman I know who wouldn't love self-animating cleaners.


How many times do I stand in the cleaning aisle, staring at a wall of magical cleaning concoctions, day dreaming of each one of them happily getting up in the middle of the night to work for me while I sleep peacefully. Then I could wake up to a fresh, clean house.


Oh, I wish.


As it is, I find cleaner after cleaner which promises more than they ever deliver. All of them take elbow grease. Scrubbing bubbles? Ha! Yeah, right! They foam at the mouth, you scrub.


And Mr. Clean isn't real. (Collective crying can be heard throughout the house-cleaning realm.)


I plan to go on a cleaning spree once my progeny are tucked into beddy-by. They all helped today cleaning up the house, but it's time for the mommy-clean to happen, partly to set the upcoming week on a good footing...


It's now after bedtime, after the arduous settling-in process, and I'm done with the day. Cleaning has just been assigned to tomorrow.


Goodnight.





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