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 Holly Winter Living The Life Of Holly Apr. 14, 2003 I had every cleaning product in the house lined up on every flat space that I could find. I started pulling half bottles of lotions, old perfume bottles and hair ties off the shelves. I know. I know. I hate cleaning my own bathroom at home, and here I was cleaning my sister’s. But. Come on. She was recovering from major surgery. I had just arrived at her house for a one week visit. The least I could do was, you know, help her out. Her four year old son walked into the bathroom. “Aunt Holly, do you LIKE to clean the bathroom?” He asked, spying all of the cleaning supplies. “No way. I’d rather be reading you a book.” I said, reading labels. Most of these cleaners were totally foreign to me. At home I subscribe to the simplicity method when it comes to cleaning the bathroom by using Comet to clean everything. I know. You can’t see your reflection in the mirror, but at least you know there aren’t any germs up there. “Well. Guess what.” He said, hands on his hips. “What?” I asked, spraying cleaners into the bathtub, two and a time, and watching the blue steam rise into the air. I wondered if they would melt the shower curtain, and quickly took it down. “Mom isn’t really that sick.” He said. “Oh?” I asked. I put down the cleaners and turned to him. “Kyle, honey. You know that she had an operation, right?” “Yeah. I know that.” “And you know that it takes a body a long time to get strong after an operation, right?” “Yeah. But Aunt Holly, she’s just a big faker.” He said, waving his hands around in the air. “No honey. She will get stronger soon. You will see.” I said trying to fold up the shower curtain so that I could ignore the mold that probably needed to be scrubbed off. “Aunt Holly, before you got here, she cleaned out the attic.” He said. My ears actually lifted. You know. Like a dog’s would. “When was that?” He exhaled loudly. “Yeah. She climbed up the ladder and cleaned the attic all by herself. Dad got mad at her, but she did it all by herself.” “Are you sure? By herself? You mean. You saw her? Since her operation?” I peeked out of the bathroom. The she was, lying on the couch. Every time I went by she moaned something about wishing she were strong enough to clean the bathrooms. “Kyle, are you sure that she is faking it?” “Yeah. I’m sure. As soon as you are done cleaning, she is going to jump off the couch and yell, “GOTCHA AUNT HOLLY!” “No way!” I said. “Yes way. Sorry Aunt Holly.” “Huh. What should I do?” I asked this all knowing sage of information. “I think that we should sit in here and you should read me a book. And then when mom yells, ‘GOTCHA AUNT HOLLY’, then you can yell, ‘NO I GOTCHA MOMMY!” He said. Well. It sounded like a good idea. I mean. I didn’t have a better plan. So Kyle slipped a picture book into the bathroom and I sat on the edge of the tub and read the Slimy book over and over again. “One more time Aunt Holly. But. This time I want you to make the Slime have a low voice, ok?” He asked. “It sounds really real when it has a low voice.” “Yeah, Sure.” Kyle got bored and stood to leave. I thought that I should exit with him. Come on. It was dirty in there. He didn’t think so. “You know Aunt Holly. You are visiting us for a whole week. And Mom is still getting better. Maybe you should just clean the bathrooms, to be nice.” He suggested. “No. I’d rather not.” I said. “Aunt Holly. It would be the right thing to do.” He said. “Cause there is real slime in here, not like the fake stuff in the book.” I felt totally disillusioned. No. Not because I had to clean the bathrooms, but because my four year old nephew could pin the reality of the real life bathroom slime, to the slime that grossed me out in that awful book. “Aunt Holly,” He said. “I think that the slime in the bathroom has the low voice.” Oh that did it. How could I use a bathroom that nurtured low voice slime? “Hey Kyle. Do you want to help me make the bathroom shiny clean?” I offered. “No. Thanks. I don’t like the smell of that cleaning stuff.” He said, pinching his nose shut. “I am going to go and help Mommy pretend that she is sick.” “Ok. Fine.” I said, turning to kill slime. “But. Aunt Holly, you better hurry up. Mommy is going to think that you are a really slow cleaner.” About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com ------------ Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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