Alright, you can all just disregard my whole little rant about people telling me to be domestic. Because guess what? I’ve caught the bug.

Friday I spent three hours cleaning my kitchen. Three. It all started with a colander. It had currently been residing in the tupperware cabinet which had become more like a tupperware explosion. I needed to organize it so it could be utilized as more than just a dumping ground for various plastic vessels, but first, the colander needed a home.

Which meant the dish drainer needed to be emptied and huh, the stove burners could use a serious cleaning and hey, what’s this part of the fridge that needs a scrubbing and oooh, the counters need some attention, and why not organize all the cabinets…

Before I knew it, I was standing in a sparkly, shiny kitchen, fingers so pruny they would take an hour to recover, and a little light headed from various cleaning products — not quite light headed enough to start spinning in happy circles, but pretty damn close.

You could lick my stove if you wanted to. Not that you’d want to. But you could.

I guess I’ve got the bug, because the house is vacuumed, the laundry is done, the mail is shredded and the bed is made. And after the gym, I’m tackling the bathroom.

I don’t know if it’s going to last, but I secretly kind of hope it does.

Unless of course Michael feels like doing it instead. Because that would be fine too.