That title is not witty, but it is a FACT. We have spent weeks and weeks and weeks cleaning and everytime I get down on my hands and knees to scrub something I hate them more. I'm going to be brief because every time I think about these horrible people my blood pressure goes up.
And it's not like I'm some kind of fanatic for cleanliness either. I have very very very low standards. If there were a continuum of cleanliness I would probably fall somewhere below slovenly bachelor and above drunken fraternity brother. I don't pee on the floor, but I don't pick my socks up either.
This is foul, but it will give you an idea of how nasty these folks were: when we moved in, every drawer in the kitchen was filled with mouse poop. For real. And not like one brown spot where you're like, is that a mouse poop or a crumb of burnt toast? Piles and piles of crap. And some of it was all squashed up, like the mice kept walking around in their own feces for a while.
I hated the last owners so much right then I think I had a little stroke.
Lest anyone who comes over for dinner now feel compelled to bring their own silverwear, don't worry, I cleaned every inch and crevice of those drawers like my life depended on it. I employed a sanitizing steamer, cleaning solution that will burn the hair off your head, and steel wool. I scrubbed so hard that I stripped the finish off.
I hate them.
It's harder than I thought to draw a good picture of a drawer full of mouse crap, but I gave it my best shot.
Lord, I hate those people.
1 comment:
I am so glad that you have new entries. I can testify to the amount of mouse poop should anyone be foolish enough to question your description of the house when you moved in.
M.O.M.
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