Me and My Mop

Each year I look back and determine the best purchase I made for myself that year. For 2023, my O-Cedar Mop Two-Tank System takes the prize. Let’s back up a bit… the full name is O-Cedar EasyWring RinseClean Microfiber Spin Mop with 2-Tank Bucket System. 

And it’s fantastic.

The cleaning bucket comes with two tanks: one to hold the cleaning solution mixed with hot water; the second tank accepts the dirty water. There’s a foot pedal and mop wringer built right in, relieving my having to wring out a dirty mop with my hands. 

Truly a life-saver for me. It’s something I’ve been searching for my entire life.

This sort of statement may sound a bit dramatic. Poor girl… the highlight of her year is a mop of all things! Yet it’s true.

My obsession with clean floors most likely started when I was 17 years old. That’s when my mom decided one of my weekly chores was to scrub the kitchen and dining room floors while on my hands and knees. There I was, every Thursday after school, lugging a heavy bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush to get the lousy job over with. 

But first I had to sweep the floor, removing bits of dust, food crumbs, the dog and cat kibble surrounding their respective food bowls. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

I proceeded to scrub the floors, making sure I did a thorough job, so I wouldn’t disappoint my mother. I was proud of my work and wanted to bask in my progress. That’s also just about the time when I became the vexatious person who consistently warned others: ”Get off the floor! I just cleaned it!”

How dare they walk on my clean floor. Couldn’t they just avoid the kitchen for the entire week and let me enjoy my hard efforts? The nerve of them. 

The cleaning on my hands and knees continued into my adult years. It was all I knew. Get down there and get the gritty dirty and grime. The only way to do it was by suffering and having dark brown spots on my knees to prove it. Ah, yes, I was the martyr who endured the nasty job but was happy with the end results.

In fact, my preoccupation with clean floors became a bit ridiculous. My brother was the first to notice my compulsion, and he quickly pointed it out to me. 

While visiting my brother and his two roommates in California, I immediately was repulsed by the looks of their kitchen floor. Let’s just say it needed some attention, what with the who-knows-what spilled on it and left to harden in its place. The floor was filthy in my mind, and it felt gross just walking on it.

So when the three of them were all at work during the day, I took it upon myself to run a bucket of hot soapy water. I gave their floor a good scrubbing on my hands and knees. I finished off with a mop I found in the garage, going over everything a second time for good measure.

My hands became red and sore as I wrung out the sullied mop. Yet, I was determined that their kitchen floor would be scoured by the end of the afternoon. In that, I was successful, as the three roommates praised my efforts and thanked me for cleaning.

Meanwhile, unkind thoughts simmered in my head, as I wondered just how long it would stay clean. Would any one of them ever take the initiative to clean it again? UGHH! I didn’t even want to think about it. 

My preoccupation with floor cleaning stayed with me. Years ago, I invited a group of neighborhood mothers and their preschool children over for lunch. When some food crumbs fell on the floor, I quickly apologized to the other mothers. ”I’m so sorry! I ran out of time this morning and never got around to washing my floor,” I explained, hoping they’d forgive me.

One of my guests tsk-tsk’d at me. “Anyone who cleans a floor before preschoolers come over is just stupid,” she remarked.

To that I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I glared at her with steely eyes — hoping she’d catch my silent but scathing reaction to that awful comment she just made.

Boy, I really needed to lighten up.

---

Years passed, and my rheumatologist advised me well after I suffered from a torn miniscus in my left knee.

“But I have to get on my knees in order to clean my kitchen floor,” I pleaded with her.

“Get a mop!” the doctor bluntly ordered. 

There went my days of martyrdom. No longer could I suffer merely for the sake of knowing I had clean floors. Because no one else cared but me.   

And now I’ve finally found my perfect mop. The O-Cedar is a pleasure to use, as I swish it around my kitchen and bathrooms floors while listening to Spotify. I’m smiling and my floors are shining. All without the struggle that really was pointless and went unrecognized.

My brother still likes to tease me about my fixation on floor cleaning. Once he asked me why I avoided a certain McDonald’s restaurant. He couldn’t figure out what could set it apart from other McDonald’s. 

“Ew, the floors there are disgusting!” I pointed out. “Everything is so sticky around the soda machine, where customers drip their sweet drinks all over the floor. I can’t stand it.” I shuddered just picturing the scene.

My brother gave me a look. “Mmhmm,” was all he said, as he arched his brow. 

Still, I stood my ground on the argument for a clean floor. A tidy floor should be a top priority for everyone. I folded my arms in response and sighed, realizing that some folks just don’t get it.