My mother-in-law is flying in for a visit later this week. Gosh-darn-it, for once, I am unable to do much of the cleaning required to get the house guest-ready. Bummer, that.
One of the tasks that is way overdue is to clean the hall bathtub—and the wretched glass doors that enclose it. In my opinion, glass shower enclosures are made by Satan himself, shipped right up to us all sparkly and shiny so that we’ll be tempted to buy them. But like all of Beelzebub’s tricks, what is shiny and pretty soon becomes dingy and mildewy and you’re a slave to it before you know it.
Anyway, since vigorous shower-scrubbing is not on my “allowed” list of activities as prescribed by my obstetrician, I told Hubby how I’ve always cleaned the shower. I use an economical, mild combination of Borax powder and dish soap (cuts soap scum like a charm!), applied with a brush and lots of elbow grease, followed by a rinse and a generous spraying of a bleach-and-water mix.
Poor guy. He thought he could just spray it with bleach and water, and voila! All would be clean. Kinda hated to burst his “easy way out” bubble.
But then in typical male fashion, he ignored my suggestion and decided to handle it as most men do: by utilizing as many power tools as possible.
He took the doors off the tracks and carried them outside. Then he washed them with the pressure washer attached to the garden hose. I don’t know what he used for soap—I didn’t want to ask. Then he uninstalled the track and carried it outside to clean in the same fashion.
I think he might’ve removed the bathtub itself if he’d had enough caulk to reinstall it.
Which is fine. Hey, if lugging heavy breakable objects through the house and down the back stairs makes you happy, go for it. But then I discovered the downside to his method as I nearly slipped on the wet kitchen floor. Carrying all the dripping wet parts back through the house left a long trail of water and wet footprints. It extended all the way from the laundry room, through the kitchen, through the dining room, down the hall and into the bathroom; thus creating another chore: Mopping.
Which sadly enough, is also not on the list of things I’m permitted to do.