Someone else - not my husband, not my mom (and certainly not me) - cleaned my bathroom. It hasn't been that clean since Mr finished renovating it when we moved here, and the wonderful woman who cleaned it didn't even get a chance to finish. She had to go home with "the flu", which I think was just a polite way of telling me that the state of my bathroom made her sick.
This is what our bathroom used to look like:
Mmmmmm-hmmm. When we first looked at the house, this was the deal breaker. "I'm not putting my babies into that bath tub", declared the Mrs. It was the final word. You can see how that turned out.
Now, thanks to Mr and the whole reason for this post our bathroom looks like this, except cleaner.
One of my very dear friends wanted to give me the gift of a clean house as her way of helping me recover from that cussed eyeball surgery. She hesitated, because she had the notion that I was the kind of housewife that would never have someone else clean her house.
It is to laugh.
I'm almost as excited about it as I am about my taxes.
Almost.
