Epic hoover battle

My son didn't like it much when I came round with a hoover and cleaning cloths - not only because of the noise, but also because of the associated request to tidy up the mess. A task that he only tackled after elaborate verbal battles, always inventing new excuses as to why it was a particularly bad idea right now, but could be done later.

But that is a thing of the past. Recently, my son, who has grown up to be a young man, announced that he would be cleaning his own room from now on. I was sceptical at first. The strategy is obvious: declare the room his own territory and then let it rot as he pleases.

I grabbed the hoover like a sword and my busy housewife nature got the better of me.

But he said «easy man» and proved me wrong: for a few weeks, he tidied up faster and more thoroughly than anyone else. Even the wardrobe. And the shoes. So I agreed to the deal and trustingly left him in charge.

But as strong as it had started, it subsided. I suspected something bad, but was careful not to inspect the room more closely. Although he had proved to be a great tidier during the test phase, he now seemed more like me as a teenager: I managed to create new chaos even while tidying up. It wasn't until much later that I discovered the zen-like effect that cleaning has on me, which is why I am now a busy housewife.

Like a hurricane through a teenager's room

One day on my cleaning day, I was crawling around on the living room floor with the hoover when I heard a soft call from the room. Not a real call, more like a siren song, a curl. The son was at his father's and had once again promised to tidy up on Sunday, but would he do it?

I grabbed my hoover and walked towards the room with the vague intention of just having a quick look. I wanted to hold back, not to violate his privacy. I pushed the door open with my foot, but the sight that greeted me quickly made me forget my resolution. I grabbed the hoover like a sword and my busy housewife nature got the better of me. I could no longer be stopped.

I can't go into details for the sake of discretion. Just this much: I swept through like a hurricane armed with cleaning rags and wood polish, knocking up mattresses and coughing, it was an epic hoover battle. In the end, I dropped into a corner exhausted, unsure whether I had done the right thing. I rang the son and said that I had cleaned his room because the conditions I had found were too much for my housewife nature. He replied as a pubescent male teenager would reply today: «Easy man.» And I decided to take it easy.