I went on a cleaning spree today through the apartment, vacuuming, dusting, and mopping. Mopping does not happen frequently in the apartment. I don’t particularly like the act of it, and I hate constantly having to ring out the soap and water, even if we have a more modern “mop” and it doesn’t have all those nasty stringy things on it. But I suppose I am addicted to that feeling afterwards of a super clean hardwood floor, the lack of sound I hear when I walk across the floor with my flip flops, and even better when my barefoot touch the floor and I feel not a hint of dust or stickiness. It’s ridiculous to think how quick the kitchen floor gets; all it takes is a few crumbs of spinach of flour, some smudges of water, and then feet to walk across it to get the whole place dirty. It’s no wonder my mom always had a rag on the floor to wipe things up when I was growing up. I might need to start doing something like that when I am cooking.

This is one of those situations where you thought you wouldn’t be like your mom, but in the end, you end up being exactly like her…