I’ve never been good at cleaning up. My place is always tidy, but extra clean? Not really.
In my early 20s, I cleaned up my chambre de bonne, a tiny apartment underneath the roof in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. On the day of the inspection, I listened to the landlady complaining about the fact that it costed her a lot of money to own an entire floor. She looked on the shelves for dust, disgusted and declared “It’s not gonna be easy for you to find a husband!” I laughed, and was also kinda sad because that really was the best I was willing to do. I gave her the keys, and ciao, bye, au revoir.
Nowadays in Boston, my flat isn’t as small as a chambre de bonne, it’s always tidy, but never spotless clean. I still don’t have any taste in cleaning up – nor does my husband (I did get married), even though I enjoy the “it feels good when everything’s clean!” type of feeling. It’s not enough to get me started with a broom and a what’s it called? mop.
I was helped by a professional cleaner last year, but I felt guilty because my place is so small “I could do it!” I was lending my flat for a few days while on vacation and I wanted it to be really nice. My friend M. recommended me someone, we made a plan, 2 people came, on a Tuesday afternoon. They looked around, and decided that it should be done in 2 hours. I gave them $100 and I left.
Two hours later, the flat was gorgeous, same but better. The only weird thing was that the toilet seat has been cracked in half.
Spring is here, and I, alas, associate the word with cleaning.
Variations on the cleaning theme:
- I’m working with Manu and a designer on a new blog! Faster, cuter, more organized. That’s my real digital spring cleaning.
- It’s also been a “friend’s cleaning” lately, for better or for worse, and I’ve enjoyed listening to Garance Doré on this topic: Breaking up with friends