Who Cleans What

I admit it, I like cleaning, when I have the time to do it. I can get a mild thrill from scubbing off a weeks worth of stains from the stove top or gutting my kitchen cabinets and throwing away all the past due cans, the long forgotten bags of pretzels that have scattered their cache of salt all over the shelf.
The bathrooms are another story; I really don't like to clean the bathrooms in my house. Most likely this aversion comes from the fact that the two males living here seem to think that we have hotel maid service which will come in and remove the globs of rock hard toothpaste they've left in the sink, or sweep away the minute hairs left on the floor in front of the mirror, (why are they constantly trimming those short haircuts anyway?). My husband won't help with the bathrooms anymore. He used to when the kids were little but then he declared that he detested the job too much and that he would help out with something else instead. Needles to say, much like Pavlov's dogs, as soon as I step into his bathroom with my mop in hand, I'm completely ticked off. I find myself mumbling and grumbling every time, and often it occurs to me that I might not mind the job half as much if he would only express some gratitude for his shiny tiolet. I imagine my rush of joy as he runs his fingers along the slick-clean bathroom walls and squeals over the splatter-free mirror, "Wow, you're amazing, I am such a damn lucky guy!"

For more opinions on house cleaning check out today's New York Times article by Lisa Belkin in the Sunday Styles section.