All Aboard the Lysol Express
"Sweetheart," she said softly, "you work so hard in that truck, and you deserve some luxury in there." Thus did the lovely Mrs. Carter coyly unveil her territorial designs on the last remaining bastion of masculinity, the "man cave." For me, it isn't a basement or a garage, but rather the truck where I live and work year round. It is my refuge, my own corner of the world, complete with military patches on display, dog tags hanging above the television, a Gadsden Flag suspended over the top bunk, a POW/MIA license plate on the front that says, "Bring 'Em Home Or Send Us Back," and a survival knife suitable for just about any contingency. It's Spartan, but its home. It would also be a temporary home to my wife, who is on the road with me this week.
The offer? If I would consent to a thorough cleaning of the truck, I would get new bedding complete with sheets that have a bazillion thread count, a thick luxurious bed spread, a plush new pillow, new carpeting, perhaps a nice framed picture to hang on the back wall of the sleeper, and a happy, contented rider for a few days. So I folded like a cheap suitcase.
The result? She went through the truck like a prairie fire, only she was scrubbing the dash, disinfecting the ceiling, cleaning the desk, scouring the walls, sweeping everything, and dusting everything else. There was just no end to it.
I keep an orderly truck, really I do. I'm career military for criminy sakes! But she found dirt in places I didn't know existed. Areas where dirt had no business in the first place. Standing atop a step ladder inside the cab I heard, "You let your Dad and your kids sleep in here with such dirty walls?" "They didn't sleep on the walls," I said before I could stop myself. That didn't help.
This truck is now so clean, I'm not sure it qualifies as a truck anymore. It's more like a surgical ward on wheels. You could do a heart transplant on the dashboard. If I hit a mud puddle, she's going to strap herself into a harness and lash herself to the side of the cab with paper towels in one hand and a can of Tough Stuff in the other, and she will not stop until it's clean again. If Barak Obama had truly been serious about making the oceans recede, he merely needed to tell the lovely Mrs. Carter that all that fish poop was leaving a dirty ring around the US coastline. That way, before he could have prescribed a pain pill for Grandma, my wife would found a way to drain at least some of that water and commenced a hellacious cleaning.
As it is, my truck is now an anti-septic tank. All the respectable germs have vacated the premises, with the hold-outs coming to a bad end. A rogue gang of paenibacillus bacteria thought they could fade into the head rest, but she was all over them like Charlie Rangel on a Caribbean tax dodge.
In place of the germs, there is now healthy food. Granola is popping out of nooks and spinach sits in the cooler, with nutritious snacks staring at me from my bookshelf. Vitamins, fruit, healthy cereal, skim milk, it's a produce section on 18 wheels, world without end, A-men.
Of course, I'm not complaining. In the final analysis, the fairer sex is indeed the civilizing force in society. The Almighty intended us to be a little lower than the angels, but it is the women of the world that keep us there. Besides, this bedding is pretty comfortable, and I got the framed picture too.
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Jun '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
That's kind of a sad story--all your one-celled friends evicted. But, I'm sure the ones that survived the chemical storm, and just got relocated to the ground, will find a new home somewhere. And we think our economic cycles are tough.
Jun '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
The bathroom in my man cave looks like something you would find at the Gas 'n Go on the Arkansas interstate. The inside of my fridge resembles a medieval ossuary except for the beer shelf. The cat has turned my furniture into confetti, and my laundry remains in the dryer until it's needed. But the garage is organized down to the last drill bit. Life as a bachelor has its compensations. If a woman wanders into my life, this will all change. Which is why the garage is so neat and orderly.
May '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
As a friend of mine is wont to say, "We're all married to the same woman."
Jun '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
I went to visit a Crown Prosecutor (the equivalent of a US District Attorney) buddy of mine in Fort McMurray, Alberta one weekend. When in his office he pitched a file folder at me and said have a look at these, these were autopsy pictures. It was one of those whisky tango foxtrot moments. Closing the folder I asked, what’s this? He said it was evidence from a murder trial he was prosecuting at the time. I then asked, what happened? He thumbed through some court transcript, drew a line in the margin to indicate the relevant passage and instructed me to read. It was an eye witness describing how the murder happened. The opening line of the witness’s testimony read, “We were sittin’ around drinkin’ Lysol and water, eh.”
Dave, I have it on very good authority that nothing good ever came out of a Lysol bottle! All I would add is that you don’t know how close you came to disaster. The next time your lovely wife is moved to hose down your man cave, best you move out of state for the duration.
May '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
If it weren't for one-celled friends, I'd have no friends at all. Assuming Cheeto dust is one-celled. And man-cave = mom's basement.
Actually, my mom (Verity Lunesta Smith) did clean out my apartment once when I was in the hospital being treated for only having a half-tank of blood. She threw out my 1099's. Which turned out to be rather a costly error. The bathroom positively sparkled, though.
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Gents, I hear ya. The good news is that the truck is so clean it squeaks and clears my sinuses. But it does seem alien somehow. It's like someone else adjusting your plate of food just before you go to take a bite.
May '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
She didn't offer a night-time, engine-off air conditioner? And doesn't she know how important it is to have some pathogens present to ensure immune resistance and consequent antibody development?
Rubber Duckie was working on garage windows this weekend that I never realized were dirty till I saw this thing called "daylight" after she had finished.
Aug '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Dave Carter: Crunchy Con
LOL
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Duane, you're right as usual. I fear all this sanitation has compromised my immune system. Misthiocracy, "crunchy con?" I dunno. She hid the Capn' Crunch too.
Aug '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Gee, Mama Carter has me feeling inadequate as a woman.
After hubby and I married and we moved into his apartment, I attempted to go through his place like Typhoon Ty-D-Bol, whipping everything to a froth of cleanliness, but I only got about 1/100th of the way through when I started feeling... really bad for disturbing all his Manly Junk without his advice or consent. And the zeal just went out of me.
So we're still living in Bachelor Palace, though I did partially reform our kitchen and bathroom.
Still, the difference between what men and women notice in terms of dirt is true: I think I'm the World's Least Organized Woman, and even I can't help being amazed at what my one-and-only considers "clean".
But I'd keep an eye on the Nutritious Snacks nestling in those crannies if I were you. What's nutritious for Man is also nutritious for Lower Life, so you might find a new crop of extra-well-nourished and enthusiastic microbes flourishing in all those healthful goodies if they sit around in your truck too long.
Smoked foods at least spoil slower.
May '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
In the Mrs' defense, the smell of seafood does linger. You were probably not aware that your truck was a mobile advertisement for Pappadeaux.
Aug '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
I'm very tempted to put that on a t-shirt.
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Midget Faded Rattlesnake, I won't keep the snacks in the truck too long, but the microbes don't bother me too much. Gives me someone to talk to on the long stretches of road. I don't deal with smoked foods much. I can't fit them in my pipe. Ditto with seafood, for just the reason Aaron mentioned above.
Sep '10
Re: All Aboard the Lysol Express
Ah, I do enjoy a good love story...