The first approach is pretending - or hoping - that the house is self-cleaning. This state of blissful ignorance usually lasts a week and ends with something that resembles Bernard Black's kitchen. 'Dirty'. Flatmates can be found eating food directly off the table with the cat litter scoop to avoid acknowledging the teetering pile of dishes in the sink.
You don't want to be the first person to crack, because that makes you the cleaning nazi. Inevitably, the first person who writes the scathing email and sticks up a roster is the baddie. Alternatively, you can be the martyr. Vacuuming around your flatmates as they watch television, scrubbing the toilet whilst they shower and collecting all of their stray items and hurling them at their bedroom door in the night (I actually know someone who did this) will all earn you this title.
This evening, however, I found a new solution. My flatmate's boyfriend. A genuinely cool guy who we all like to hang out with, he had a sudden case of guilt this evening about all the time he spends here and wanted to give back to the house. He started by re-arranging the glasses, cups and crockery according to size and frequency of use. I thought it was an odd place to start, but wasn't about to discourage the man.
The result is rather pleasing, and makes me want to embrace my inner cleaning nazi and ban my flatmates from using anything lest they ruin the display. A hostile post-it should suffice.
Moral of the story: there is an inner cleaning fairy just waiting to be coaxed out of your flatmate's boyfriend. All it needs is occasional kindness, a guilt trip and a pair of pretty pink dishwashing gloves.
Why can't I have a flatmate's boyfriend who will clean for me, damn it! Somehow actual boyfriend is never as forthcoming with the cleaning...
ReplyDeleteWhat's yours up to this weekend?
:)