Cleaning House
Yesterday, my primary care giver asked me for money to buy a new mop. I asked her what was wrong with the old one, considering it has rarely been used. She replied it was dirty, and a dirty mop resting outside a house was indicative of a dirty house inside. A clean mop outside meant a clean house inside.
“Clean or dirty,” I argued, “why don’t we just store the mop inside and keep the neighbours guessing?”
Apparently, that was not the correct response nor attitude, so we are now the proud owners of a new, top-of-the-range, squeaky-clean mop. I only wish it had come with instructions in Thai because all it seems to do is stand like a sentinel just outside the front door in full view of the street. But my little tee ruk has her face back and that is all that matters.
We men often think one of the great advantages of having a woman around is her neatness. The argument propagated by feminists and accepted by men, is that women are generally the cleaner gender, both personally and in taking care of their surroundings. True or not, my ex-wife is the only woman I’ve lived with who was cleaner than me. She maintained our house in pristine condition even when we weren’t expecting visitors. In the time since our divorce, I’ve known a succession of women who left a lot to be desired in the neatness department.
On the subject of cleaning the house, I’ve noticed women go through stages which are possibly replicated throughout the rest of the animal kingdom. In the beginning of a relationship, both sides are out to impress each other by displaying only positive characteristics. The man will shave once a day whether he needs it or not while the woman will exaggerate her neat way of life.
After the relationship has been established however, her standard of house tidiness appears to decline over time. But this is an illusion since it was only an act to begin with, and experienced men will tell you not to be fooled. There are two, and only two, reasons why your new girlfriend will clean your apartment. OK, three; only three.
The first is to mark her territory. Dogs and cats will pee on a tree or wall as an indicator to other dogs or cats that this is their territory. “I’ve left my scent here first so you can go pee somewhere else!” A woman will usually not do this. Instead, she will clean your house as her way of telling other women that this is her territory and you are someone else’s property.
Hypothetically, let’s say your girlfriend is away and you innocently invite another lady back to your pad for a cup of tea. The first thing she notices when she gets inside the door is how clean the place is.
“Gee, your place is really clean and tidy!” she smiles.
“Yeah, well I like to keep the place shipshape,” you respond, attempting not to give the game away.
She turns around and her smile becomes a scowl. “Don’t lie to me you bastard! You’re married, aren’t you?” She rushes to the door as you make one last pleading effort.
“No! I’m not married. I’m … er … partially gay!”
SLAM!
The second reason a woman, especially early in the relationship, will clean your apartment is to make herself indispensable to you. You arrive home from work to be greeted with, “Surprise! Look, darling, I cleaned the house top to bottom. Doesn’t it look fantastic?” You survey the spotless interior of the home you used to call ‘comfortable’ and mumble something inane like,
“Yeah, babe, you’ve done a great job.” She gives you a big cuddle and says, “Makes you wonder what you ever did without me, doesn’t it?”
Gotcha! If you answer in the affirmative, from that point on you’re trapped. She has implanted the message in your brain that you need her for the rest of your natural life. Till death do us part.
The third reason a woman will clean your apartment is the most sinister of all. Cleaning gives her the perfect excuse to snoop! She will scrupulously clean every nook and cranny, not because she particularly wants to be thorough, but because she wants to find all those nasty little secrets she is certain you have been keeping from her.
Again, you arrive home from work to be greeted with a spotless apartment and a smiling sweetheart. As she locks you in a firm, loving embrace, she says, “Oh darling, today while I was cleaning I found something. What’s this?” You look down at her free hand which is holding a pack of condoms.
“Where did you find those?” you ask sheepishly.
“In the bathroom.”
“But they were behind a loose tile at the back of the drain pipe under the sink.”
“I know,” she smiles smugly. “I tapped all the bathroom tiles to see if there were any hollow ones.”
Now you’re screwed, but you still try to weasel your way out.
“Oh, babe, I’ve had those for years; long before I ever met you.”
She retreats from her embrace, spins around like a viper and snarls, “Don’t lie to me!” With one hand on her hip she holds the packet two inches from your nose. “This pack has a serial number and I called the manufacturer. It only left the factory two weeks ago! Now,” she slows down the pace and lowers the volume, “this is a packet of three condoms but there is only one left. Would you care to explain that to me?” (In this case, the correct answer would be, “No.”)