Ode to Dust (dedicated to all bunnies out there)

Previously published on theSmartlychicago.com
(Mom, please, DO NOT read this. I know you won’t but don’t try to find a translator who would tell you all about my take on dust. It would give you the chills and deprive you of sleep for many weeks.)

Dust…for the first 18 or so years of my life, you were like a myth to me. I mean, I knew of you, read your name printed in books and magazines, heard about you on TV and the radio but rarely – if ever – saw you. Never got the chance. You were The Enemy in a house kept spotless thanks to a housewife solely dedicated to immaculate cleanliness. I mean –  a cleaning freak. Like, nuts. For real. Daily vacuuming, cleaning of the stove and the kitchen and, worse yet, scrubbing the bathtub after every single shower. Not a single drop of water allowed in the bathroom please.  That would be so out of place.

She was a (more than) willing slave, and we were dragged in with her.

Talk about hell (without brimstone powder or ashes, of course)

But after – Gosh! – 16 years out of the nest I know all about you, my friend. Mi casa è su casa. I am not exactly welcoming you with open arms but the result is quite the same: you are everywhere. What the hell was I thinking while buying dark furniture? That I would be rug in hand every five minutes? Ha! And, sneaky you, you love company and usually don’t come alone to the party: dirt, crumbs, hair, the occasional flowers petals, bits of cake and other scrubs….yeah….I know all of you guys.

But I am not ashamed.

I decided long ago that I lived in a house, not a museum. You and your friends are LIFE. Well, part of it.  Not the most glamorous one, for sure but still evidence that I open my windows, go outside, bake, eat, pet my cats and dog (and yes!! horror - they do lose their hair everywhere), breathe and enjoy. I don’t live in a dump though, and I will always frantically go in “Mom Freak Mode” during the few hours before my guests are supposed to arrive because I want the best for them (and also maybe for them to say that I am quite the house-keeper…um, um…) But I refuse to spend my nights and weekends mopping, sweeping, wiping up, down, across and in-between. Yes, it can be messy. Dirty even sometimes. But guess what? I deal with it. And I haven’t died of septicemia yet. I am a firm believer in germ exposure anyway. The cleaner, the weaker.

Right?

One thing for sure: as soon as I get a steady job, a grown-up one where I earn money every month, I will give some work to someone who needs it, and hire a cleaning lady. And worship her. In the meantime I give myself a break, and so should you.