I’ve never been good at cleaning up. My place is always tidy, but extra clean? Not really.
In my early 20s, I cleaned up my chambre de bonne, a tiny apartment underneath the roof in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. On the day of the inspection, I listened to the landlady complaining about the fact that it costed her a lot of money to own an entire floor. She looked on the shelves for dust, disgusted and declared “It’s not gonna be easy for you to find a husband!” I laughed, and was also kinda sad because that really was the best I was willing to do. I gave her the keys, and ciao, bye, au revoir.
Nowadays in Boston, my flat isn’t as small as a chambre de bonne, it’s always tidy, but never spotless clean. I still don’t have any taste in cleaning up – nor does my husband (I did get married), even though I enjoy the “it feels good when everything’s clean!” type of feeling. It’s not enough to get me started with a broom and a what’s it called? mop.
I was helped by a professional cleaner last year, but I felt guilty because my place is so small “I could do it!” I was lending my flat for a few days while on vacation and I wanted it to be really nice. My friend M. recommended me someone, we made a plan, 2 people came, on a Tuesday afternoon. They looked around, and decided that it should be done in 2 hours. I gave them $100 and I left.
Two hours later, the flat was gorgeous, same but better. The only weird thing was that the toilet seat has been cracked in half.
❧
Spring is here, and I, alas, associate the word with cleaning.
Variations on the cleaning theme:
- I’m working with Manu and a designer on a new blog! Faster, cuter, more organized. That’s my real digital spring cleaning.
- It’s also been a “friend’s cleaning” lately, for better or for worse, and I’ve enjoyed listening to Garance Doré on this topic: Breaking up with friends
