When you’re a stay-at-home retiree like myself, you have an obligation to keep the house clean. Especially, if you have a working wife with a picky eye for details. I’ve learned the hard way to never take short-cuts and to attack cobwebs, corner dust, and clutter. At least, I’m getting better at it. This morning I spent 2 1/2 hours changing sheets, dusting, vacuuming, and mopping our wood floors. I finally got this much-needed opportunity to sit down and write, but later today or tomorrow I also need to mop the tile floors, clean the toilets, and the upstairs bath.

Company is coming and I know that my wife’s keen sense of clean will be on high alert. The problem is that a little dust in an out-of-the-way spot doesn’t bother me, while her radar will somehow detect and detest it. I have to attack the house in her frame of mind, where every detail counts and any houseguests will hold it against us. When I’m a guest in someone’s home, I’m just grateful for any hospitality that saves me $150 or so a night. I’m certainly not looking under the bed for dirt or in their closets for overlooked dust. This is not the same way she thinks.

We had an overnight petsitter plus a houseful of guests over the past two weeks. More guests are due in a few days, so the more time I invest in housekeeping, the less time she’ll have to work at two jobs – office and home. Regardless, even though I’ll put what I think is extra effort into my work, it will still not be good enough. I would say that the difference is “a woman’s touch,” but that would be a sexist statement. The fact is that I was never taught to clean or held accountable for cleaning duties. I’ve really never even lived alone, with the exception of a couple of months between marriages. As a retiree, I do now feel a sense of responsibility and a need to get better. I also try to cook once a week, another household responsibility that has taken some trial and error to learn.

The fact of the matter is that if I lived alone, I would probably always go out to eat. As proof, the oven in my temporary apartment still had the factory stickers on the inside after I moved out. I do, however, know how to operate a microwave, but I’m not much of a shopper. I’ve already written about some of my shopping traumas. (See Post #677). As a result, there was little in my cupboards to even “nuke.’ I did have the basic cleaning supplies, but then again I was rarely there.

There is a side of me that likes to iron, and I’ve never had a problem around doing laundry. Shamefully, I would drag home bags of dirty laundry from college, when I could have just done it myself. Honestly, I never even thought of it, rationalizing that Mom enjoyed washing my dirty underwear. Right! Sunday nights, after I was married, I would get out the ironing board and press all of my suits, shirts, and slacks for the upcoming week. I would do that while watching Murder She Wrote. I never once saw Jessica Fletcher do laundry.

I do all the laundry now in retirement and make at least one trip to the dry cleaners every couple of weeks. I’m in charge of trash and pet care, including litter box duty. I do not apparently do all of these things to my wife’s high standards, but I think she’s willing to sacrifice quality for free time. I’m also not very handy around the house so she won’t allow me to open a can of paint or use a hammer without supervision. I do admittedly have a knack for incompetence in performing these “manly” tasks. I am also not a stereotypical male who admires fast cars, enjoys going to Lowe’s or Home Depot, and prefers camping, fishing, & hunting to remaining comfortably indoors at home. I am, however, a huge sports fan, but not one that likes to tailgate. Furthermore, I’m not necessarily comfortable around a grill.

It’s time for me to take out the dogs and reposition the furniture I moved to mop. I do like the new slip-on tie-shoes that I bought last week. I still have my running clothes on from this morning and had removed my shoes to avoid tracking-in more dirt. These waterproof, sporty treads are easy to put-on and take-off, like slippers with support. They also don’t look as if I just got out of bed. It’s almost noon and I feel guilty that I haven’t showered yet, but apparently, not everyone does every day like me. I’ll sweep out the garage and scrub some more floors and then clean-up for Date Night. Just Call me Mr. Clean.