Hardwood floors

Have you ever noticed that hardwood floors are a pain? Probably not if you have children. No, if you have kids, hardwood floors are a blessing in disguise, right?

Not even.

No way. 

I refuse to believe it.

I have a dog, and he might as well be my kid for all intents and purposes. He runs around like a kid, demands attention like a kid, and has to be fed and watered every day. The only thing separating him from being a kid is he walks on four legs and he can’t speak for himself. But, anyway, back on topic.

My dad and I have an agreement; I cook and I clean his house, he pays me $100 a week. A pretty sweet deal if you think about it. I’m pretty damn positive I got gypped.

You see, it is not the living room that has the hardwood flooring, or even one of the bedrooms. No, no. It is the KITCHEN that has the hardwood floor. The ONE PLACE I would prefer to have tile; and I’m very specific about my tile, it has to be the kind that looks really pretty, you know that stone looking tile that really makes a room stand out? Preferably in a nice shade of red, a wine color almost. That way when someone comes in, they immediately look down and think “wow, I wish my house had this awesome wine-colored tile”, but no. I was cursed with hardwood kitchen floor that spanned all the way into the fancy dining room that we don’t use, to the entryway leading all the way to the laundry room which is, in fact, covered in tile.

Oh the kitchen isn’t so bad, you say. It looks really, really nice.

Oh, yeah, sure, if you can get over the scuffing the wear and tear and the general crappiness that blights my nice amber colored floor. Yeah. That’s right. I said AMBER COLORED. Or it would be if the freaking thing didn’t have a fine layer of dust or scuffed shoe marks.

Oh, that’s okay, it’s easy to clean! That’s what they invented Swiffer for!

Go. To. Hell.

Sure, anyone can pick up a Swiffer broom, with its nice little microfiber pads that “lock in dust and dirt”, run it over the floor and say with a grin on their face “yep, good as new”. Oh sure, sure. But then there’s the whole process of swabbing the floor and then you have to seal in the cleaner so it actually stays shiny for a good week before getting scuffed again. Oh, yeah, and there’s the fact that I live with an anal retentive, I’m-pretty-sure-he’s-borderline-OCD First Sergeant of a father.

That’s right. I went through room inspections as a kid.

I hate you hardwood floors. You make me miserable. You sit there, silently taunting me with your shifty ways. I know you have a contract with the dust master of the world, stipulating that you will piss me off every morning because no matter how often I sweep and mop you, you will always have that layer of dust there, waiting for me when I wake up.

And don’t think I’ve forgotten you refrigerator and oven. You and your cabinet conspirators days are numbered.

And you, hardwood floors, I am watching you.

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