I’m scared. Genuinely fearful. House-hunting. I’m soon about to join those ranks again.
Well, I’m not ‘piss my jocks scared because the hills appear to have eyes’ –scared.
It’s worse then that.
How Clean Is Your House? Usually quite clean, thank you very much. But mine is the exception. Mine is the exception that proves that every other house, houses that are not mine, houses that have been rejected by the cold concrete foundations of civilization and are reverting back to the land that was once uncovered.
Grease. Grease that you wouldn’t believe; I have seen today on TV. One inch thick grease on an oven. Grease that has come to enjoy life, and willing to take it away. Grease that has annexed the counter top as it slowly encroaches up the wall and upon the fridge.
A fridge that doesn’t need this kind of agro. This fridge has problems of its own. The armies of mould have opened the lower gates and are now approaching the few compartments left with democracy.
The floor? What floor? Oh, this? This constantly moving layer we have here? This layer that consists mostly of used food cartons, pizza crusts and the manifestation of pure fear?
I suppose we could call this layer a ‘floor’, in that it’s below where you feet should be and still possibly above the soil.
Today, on this program-come-terror store, one of them (the large scary one), used mayonnaise to clean off some stickers from a drawer. Mayonnaise. Then she gazed into the big biker’s eyes and I swear to God, chatted him up. Incredibly unsubtly. Then she scraped off the stickers (with a plastic scraper mind, because then it doesn’t scratch). I think this was all foreplay of some kind.
Sexy, mayonnaise-themed foreplay.
Sexy, Frilly-themed foreplay
This is not the first bad house that they’ve cleaned you see. Supposedly, it’s some kind of ‘series’ which I take to mean as every house is like this. It must be. How else could they have 5 series of this? Where people live like poorly educated monkeys? These people seem normal. The guy today even had a passable girlfriend-type growth
He had a mother.
I’m scared. Every house that is not mine and the 0.0005% of homes in Ireland I’ve visited are like this. They must be. Where else could these houses be?
And I’m gonna have to live like this too it seems.
I really don’t want to live like this.
So I’m going to have to ring them. I’m going to have to get to come to where ever I end up living, and get them to clean my house with mayonnaise. I really, really hate mayonnaise. And I don’t want to have sex with the large scary one. I really, really don’t. She had something bun-like on her yellow head.
Are all cleaners yellow? Is that why every other house is so dirty?
But it’s that or live in the eternal squalor that is not living at home or in any of the other places I’ve lived in or the 0.0005% of homes in Ireland I’ve visited. I can’t hack that. I can’t. It’s impossible. Unhackable.
What if I end up living with a biker? He definitely was a biker: he had a bike. I saw the smaller one with the strange mouth clean it. I don’t know with what.
It might of been ketchup. Or some other condiment.
Whatever it was, it worked. IT WORKED. What is happening here!?
I don’t want to live in a world where I have to clean with condiments. I thought I lived in a world where condiments on non-food items where some of the problem. I was wrong. Me and the 0.0005% of homes in Ireland I’ve visited were wrong. And I’m soon to live in one of the 99.9995% of homes I haven’t visited yet, so I will have to live with my wrongness. Mayonnaise-coated wrongness.
And that’s why I’m scared.