The cleaning of the loo

Billy Shakespeare wrote about “The taming of the shrew” while I’m writing about the cleaning of the loo. That’s about as thespian as I’m ever going to get.

Why is it that I appear to be the only person in our house that is able to clean the bathroom? not only that but I am the lucky one with extra toilet cleaning duties to boot. It’s a job that I never wanted and certainly never applied for, and, having checked my wedding certificate several times over the last twenty six years just to ensure that there is no clause stating that once married I didn’t just gain a husband but a whole toilet system as well I am resigned to the fact that this is indeed my calling.

I have tried to think back to when this became my official duty, like The Queen who has to troop the colour as part of her role, I have to wield a toilet brush round the carsey every morning. Only it doesn’t require a horse drawn carriage, or any waving. Just some rubber gloves and harpic!

I think it happened once we had children. At the time when the midwife handed me my first screaming little ball of baby loveliness things shifted, I’m not entirely sure how or why, but they did. Perhaps I missed the bit where she said “its a girl and by the way from now on not only will you have to look after this little person but, you will be solely in charge of the loo for the foreseeable future”. Wether she said it or not that’s exactly what happened.

My family are oblivious to the fact that the rim needs wiping, the seat needs cleaning or even the fact that the thing needs a bloody flush now and again. Nobody notices the never ending puddle of wee on the floor because (as I have discovered) boys need a target to get the wee in the actual pan.Perhaps they think they are doing me a favor by aiming up the walls and all over the floor. Its like lake Michigan in there on a bad day. Floor wipes were invented for my family! For some reason I also have the sole responsibility of opening the loo window, theres nothing fresh about the air in there if I’m not at home. Its odd because in no other room do I have that much authority not even my own.

As for the toilet roll I know for a fact that if I left tomorrow The Wilkinson family would never be able to wipe their bottoms again. Its not as though I have to source this rare object from the shores of Madagascar, or have it specially flown over in a sea plane from Mexico. It’s readily available on every supermarket shelf, and in dire emergencies from the corner shop. (Even though with the price I pay for it from there I may as well get it flown in from Mexico.) I am also the only person who changes the roll. Without me that poor little loo roll holder would forever have a cardboard tube circa 1991 hanging pathetically from it. While the others are piled against the wall soaking up the wee like yellowing icebergs.

I was considering starting some in house training, maybe find a willing family member to take the toilet mantle in case anything happens to me. So far I have been met with steely resistance.

I have tried resigning, tantruming and going on strike to no avail. Looks like I’ve got this job for life. I suppose it could be useful on a C.V : Sole charge of toilet duties, I know where that elusive toilet roll comes from and I’m pretty mean with a toilet duck. If my life experiences are anything to go by these are very necessary skills to have. Perhaps I shouldn’t knock them!

I have also discovered I have something in common with the Queen, we are both keepers of the throne. Every cloud…..


Mrs W

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