Defeat Is the Scent of Disinfectant

My family was on hall cleaning today. So its our job to head down to our hall and clean a part of it ... Only a part, because it's a large hall. As always, I feel that there is something kind of sad about empty a big empty hall. Despite the warmth of the day, I feel cold, the creak of the floorboards sounding almost spooky. It makes me appreciate that the building is nothing without the people ... and to me, people-less, it feels lonely. I know how stories about haunted houses get started.

Anyway (picture me shaking my head to clear that random thought), its my duty to clean the male toilets. Yes, yes, I know, it teaches me humilty, it's character building and so on. Actually, I'm, not so worries about the demeaning nature of the task ... It's just that I hate the smell of cleaning products on my hands. So I get myself some gloves ... You know the sort ... Ambidextrous ones that manage to feel uncomfortable no matter which way you put them on and make me wonder about the sort of hands they were actually designed for (I'm visualising some poor guy with little fingers the shape and size of thumbs), with floury stuff inside, in a very fetching shade of hospital pink. And having so equipped myself for the task of cleaning, I throw myself into it (well, not literally, but you know what I mean).

At the conclusion of this little effort, I carefully remove the gloves (taking care not to touch the outsides), ditch them and wash my hands. Sniff test time ... Winner! .. Everything I eat for the next week is going to smell like toilet cleaner.