The armory was opened in
preparation for the battle: gloves lined up, static cling cloths prepped,
polish and rags at the ready, vacuum cleaners on stand-by.
This
was not spring-cleaning. This was war,
a war that no human being can ever win, for dust is ever-triumphant.
In
spite of this truth, the battle is waged regularly. The fortunate armies feature child dust soldiers who take on the
bulk of the fight; intense supervision to ensure thoroughness is the
trade-off. Others must enlist the
four-legged comfort-givers living in their homes by strapping cloths to each of
their paws and sending them off on their day.
This is an act of desperation, but those leeches really should earn
their keep.
Other
generals must be hands-on and do all the work themselves: spraying, wiping,
swishing, banging, blowing, shaking, reaching, falling, crawling, lifting,
dropping, sweating. The hair, lint, and
skin gradually, inexorably are corralled into bags of all shapes and sizes, and
victory seems inevitable.
Then,
when all appears to be vanquished, it’s spotted: a cobweb in the corner.
A
hair on the wall.
Dirt
on top of the door?!
Dust
knows no boundaries: it lives on the walls; it lives on the ceiling; it defies
gravity; it defies the laws of nature.
The
sun sets on the battlefield as the infantry surrenders yet again, regrouping to
fight another day.
The
dust bunnies under the bed sleep on.
I have those dust bunnies and they have always won, Very funny telling of an age-old battle.
ReplyDeleteThank you - I knew I'd find kindred spirits :-).
ReplyDeleteDust does seem to always win even though I clean pretty often (or I feel like I'm always cleaning).
ReplyDeleteToo true.
ReplyDelete