I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
November 5, 2005
There’s almost nothing a domestic goddess won’t do to spice up her life.
Susie Sunshine uses frilly aprons to drive her husband wild, while Angie’s developed a meatloaf that doubles as a potent aphrodisiac. Me, I’m enjoying a little fling- with Mr. Clean.
I’ll have to admit that I got his number from Ms. Sunshine. Actually, it was meant for someone else, but… whatever. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
I was a little leery about bringing him home at first. I’ve never had a thing for bald men, much less one with two earrings and one outfit. But after hearing Susie’s raves, I got a little… jealous. What did she have that I didn’t (besides clean walls)? Despite my nerves, I managed to pick him up at his hangout, the local grocery.
Luckily, Hubs wasn’t home when we got back to my place. But 12 was. Too bad. I’d waited this long. I couldn’t contain my excitement.
“I have to tell you about something…” I began, carefully placing my grocery bags on the counter in front of 12.
“Mr Clean! The Magic Eraser,” 12 interrupted, pulling a box out of one of the bags. “I’ve heard about him,” she said, giving me a knowing look.
“You have?” I asked. Okay, stay calm, I told myself.
“Yeah,” she said casually. “I heard he’s a real miracle worker.”
“Erm, we’ll see,” I said, grabbing the box from her hands. “So! I heard there’s a new episode of “That’s So Raven” on…”
Without another word, 12 turned and bolted for the playroom stairs. Finally, Mr. Clean and I were alone.
We began in the kitchen, where a dark spot on the wall near the trashcan had been plaguing me for weeks. I’d tried everything to remove it, with no luck.
“All right, Mr. Clean,” I whispered. “What can you do for me that the other guys couldn’t?”
Turns out, quite a lot. The smudge was gone in seconds. Breathless, we moved to the foyer, where scuff marks lined the wall beside the shoe basket.
I wanted to give it my all- but Mr. Clean had warned me to be gentle. We got into a nice rhythm as the scuff marks, one by one, disappeared.
Suddenly, I heard Baby calling me from the next room.
“Ma Ma!”
Damn! I thought. I’m so close to finishing!
“I’ll be there in a second, sweetie!”
“Ma MA!”
“Just a second!” I panted.
A few more strokes and the last smudge was gone. Gone. I sat back shakily and looked at the pristine wall before me, fresh as the day it was painted. The bliss of that moment welled in my throat. Inexplicably, I longed for a cigarette.
Mr. Clean was far from spent. That day, we danced the scuff mark samba in the den and the dining room, with whispered promises to christen the upstairs bedrooms the next morning.
What began as an afternoon delight may very well last a lifetime.
Thank you, Mr. Clean. Your magic eraser has changed my life.
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