by CAROL McEWEN, for the Sun Gazette
Today I took a deep dive, as the current saying goes, into no man’s land: under the guestroom bed.
A disclaimer: I really HAD swept under there a few times, with one of those long-handled thingamabobs. I noticed a clunk as I hit something, but assumed it was a bed support.
But today I got down on all fours and LOOKED under there. Don’t ask, by the way, how I got back up. It wasn’t pretty.
To begin the cleaning job, I armed myself with my trusty Mr. Clean dry mop which swivels like the rare grocery cart that actually rolls the way it’s supposed to. (I always get the geriatric one or the one which limps along like the walking wounded. Maybe it needs a tire rotation or a lube job.)
Blue and white striped and pristine, the washable pad and I were ready to do battle with crud.
At first glance, I thought I was on another planet. It looked like those pictures we get of the moon, with craters and loose dust. I found items whose absence had been the subject of tiny tears and others that I never knew existed.
Here’s a rundown:
• A fancy, pricey wand, my granddaughter’s souvenir from Disney.
• A saucer from her tea set.
•An orange Shopkin, missing its many playmates in the toy cabinet, I’m sure.
• A Corona beer bottle with a little beer inside. Former houseguest, you know who you are.
• A thick hair band studded with dust and a couple of light-colored hairs.
• Enough lint to stuff a pillow.
• A baby tooth apparently dropped by the Tooth Fairy as she flew back to her castle.
And best of all, that obstacle I thought was a bed support turned out to be a leaf for a table that no longer exists in this house. We’ve asked the previous owners, through their agent, if they want it. But since we bought this place in 2015, I’m thinking they haven’t missed it.
[Update: It seems the former owners DO want the leaf for a table they took with them.]
Now, I know I’m not the only person who cleans under her beds on alternate years or during an eclipse of the moon – whichever comes last.
My Old School mother would faint dead away. Meanwhile, I’m looking into a Roomba.
A resident of Arlington for 40+ years, Carol McEwen sells real estate when she’s not imparting deep insights or sparkling wit in this column. Reach her at email@example.com.