I think Darren inherited his amazing cleaning abilities from his grandmother. Man, that woman knew clean. I have never seen a more beautiful sliding glass door track in my life. She even had this beautiful doily in her fridge for her orange juice. A doily. Genius. Yup, you heard me. I’m pro-doily. Say it with me, doily. Doileeeeee.
Wait, where was I?
Ah yes, cleaning. I’m a horrible window cleaner. I leave streaks everywhere. My dad always laughed at this. Dad had this amazing window cleaner stuff that he would always use, the blue can of foam stuff, and he was insistent on using newspaper. Me? Not so much. It doesn’t matter what I use. If it was my life’s work to be a window washer, I would fail, miserably.
Even glass doors and making sure to go left/right on one side and up-down on the other so you knew which side the streak was on…didn’t help. I’m a completely lost cause.
But not Mister Fancy Pants over here. I seriously don’t think it matters what this guy uses, it’s in his blood. Darren says it’s just elbow grease. But I’m here to tell you, all elbow grease gets me is too much pressure and a trip to the ER for stitches because my hand went through a glass window. It’s pretty embarrassing when you are sobbing to the ER guy ‘I just wanted clean windows’.
I don’t know how he does it. But the second he is anywhere near Windex and paper towels *BAM* this place is all sorts of sparkly. He says you need a squeegee or a razor blade. I say you just need a husband with a squeegee. 😉
Ugh. He’s going to make me clean a window for saying that, isn’t he?