I am living like a frat boy sans pony keg in the middle of my living room floor.
In talking with my mother on the phone last night, I realized that I couldn't remember when the last time was that I'd washed a bathroom sink. "I know I scrubbed toilets after my stomach flu incident."
"Well," my mother calculated on the other line. "That would be just before you came up to visit us on your Fall Break."
SERIOUSLY!?!?!? I've not done anything to my bathrooms since Fall Break? That's like one, two, ten ... like weeks!
So, in other words, my townhouse is a breeding ground for sickness and disease ... a biome of disgustingness just boiling and festering in its toxic juices.
That does it. It's been decided. I must clean my house ... before the CDC swoops in to study the 52 new strains of human flesh eating diseases that have cropped up on my kitchen floor.