Bathroom Blues

I need to clean bathrooms. The powder room and master bath aren’t so bad, but the boys bathroom. Ugh. 1970’s truckstops come to mind. The sort of place where you really want to stand on the toilet seat and in no way let any part of it touch any part of your body. Hazmat comes to mind. And the tub…oh man. A few years ago I refinished it from it’s original penicillin green to a lovely and neutral cream. Only apparently I didn’t do it right because the cream is peeling up so now it looks even worse than it did originally. Cream, antibiotic green, and…industrial grease. Which is nearly indistiguishable from mildew. And won’t come up with bleach. What it needs is engine degreaser but that is wicked on the septic tank. So, when we have guests, we put them in a hotel room.  In theory the boys are supposed to keep it clean, but their standards are not my standards and as long as there isn’t a big turd floating in the commode they consider it clean.
Also, they are incapable of putting things like empty shampoo bottles and used razors in the trash can, which is large and has a lid. Thus there are several empty bottles on the floor next to the trash can, and probably 15 razors (even there are only 3 people who shave that use the room) on the sink. As well as used cotton balls and tiny chips of soap. I am glad I had sense enough to put a darkish slate looking floor in there, because it shows nothing unusual or untoward.
There is a nice heavy towel bar, consistently ignored for the convenience of throwing the towels on the floor, which then pile up until the whole floor is covered and someone complains at there being no clean ones.  I have explained for years that one is usually relatively clean when one steps out of the shower, and towels can actually be reused, if hung up to dry, but it fell on deaf ears. I have no sympathy. If they want a clean towel they can wash the damn things themselves.
Lots of underwear on the floor too. And dirty PE uniforms…that’s #4’s problem. He knows how to work a laundry basket and washing machine as well as I do. Every now and then I’ll get a burst of Motherly Instinct and actually gather up the soured towels and underpants and wash them all…but not very often, and as long as I close the door and don’t SEE the bathroom, I don’t really care what kind of condition it’s in.
I suppose I should be ashamed of the condition of the bathroom. I reckon I ought to have more pride in my house or something. But I don’t, not that bathroom, anyway. I never use it. When we remodeled it, taking out the 1967 fixtures and putting in lovely new things and removing the orange and green wallpaper and replacing it with a lovely tan paint, putting in brushed nickel faucets and hardware…I thought it looked right classy. It still could, if it were clean. Maybe…just maybe, out of the pure goodness of my heart, I’ll go clean it. Maybe.


About rootietoot

I do what I can.
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8 Responses to Bathroom Blues

  1. When me and my brother finally moved out, my mother took over the “big” bathroom and left the little bathroom off their bedroom to my dad. She has named it Chernobyl. I go over once a week and clean her house (because that’s what good children do when their parents are in their 60’s, not that my brother seems to be aware of this *grumbles*). I’ve told her that if she goes first, I’m going to hire Merry Maids to come do it and post notes in dads bathroom saying ” I’m so sorry” and ” my MOTHER kept a very clean house”. She makes him clean it, but you can’t tell when he does. It’s like he sees nothing from his nose down. And at 6’4, that includes everything.

    • rootietoot says:

      “And at 6’4, that includes everything.” Once again, you made me spit on my computer. Chernobyl is a most excellent name for a bathroom. I may have to borrow that one.

  2. Bella Rum says:

    LOL Thank God I only had one boy.

  3. No. They’d just refine the art of grossing her out.
    Now, if you invited a young,unrelated girl over, cleaning might happen at light speed but a sister? Nope.

  4. Belisi says:

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