Now, a message from PHubby: Cleaning your house with Karma

It's Naked Cupcake Day week! Hooray! I'm going to do some fun stuff this week. Today, we're kicking off the week with a guest post by PHubby, the coiner of "Duggar butter."

I've heard his stories hundreds of thousands of times, and they never get old. Not even a little bit. Uh-uh. Nosirreebob. They're just as fresh as the first 10 times I heard them.

*sigh* Forgive me. Everyone else thinks they're great, and I did, too, like I said, the first 10 times.

Without further ado, I will, for some idiotic reason, subject you to this ...

So a marriage is a partnership, till death do you part, in sickness or in health, for richer or poorer (at least for one of us- she'll have to explain that one to you [We memorized our vows, and I fucking FORGOT, OK!?]). And so is a blog.

I have been enlisted to help amuse the wonderful people who save a few minutes of their day to nosh on some Naked Cupcakes. In return for my efforts, I will be getting hot sexual favors (shyah). We're going to install a runway and pole in the bedroom next week.

(To all you ladies and wives out there, I understand it will be an imaginary runway and pole in the bedroom in my mind, but do me a favor and try not to pee on my dreams. 'ppreciate it.)

In the early years of the new millenium, SarahP and I lived in California. We had only been living there for a month or so, and the money we had brought with us was wearing thin. The reliable and responsible SarahP had gainful employment, while the less reliable and hygienically suspect PHubby (then PBoyfriend) had a signed contract for employment in a mere 30 days time, and a need to make money before that. To fill the gap, I answered an ad in the paper for a house cleaning agency.

I never researched this, but I feel safe asserting myself as the first and only college-educated, white male to be employed by that company as a house cleaner. I don't say that to be racist or arrogant; it's just a pretty safe bet.

It was just fine with me. It made me unique, like a snowflake. It also gave me something to prove, because on the first day, everyone was looking at me wondering what Professor Wonderbread thinks he's doing with a mop.

And prove myself, I did. My mom raised me well. I know how to clean. I know how to dust. I know how to vacuum. I know how to clean glass and surfaces. I know how to do dishes. And yes, I even know how to clean toilets.

(I know how, because when I was 12, my mother waltzed me into the bathroom and plucked a few squares of TP off the roll, folded them up, wiped the floor next to the toilet, showed me the golden delicious stain she had retrieved in the process and announced, "You see that? Mommies don't do that. Little boys do that." That began my lifelong love of cleaning toilets used by males who lack aim and/or depth perception. And, he now has excellent aim. Thanks, PHubbyMom!)

It was a good thing I knew how to clean toilets because cleaning-crew rookies are assigned to the porcelain patrol. Again, not a problem. Not a problem at all. Until one day...

It was just another house. We arrived in the Cleaningmobile (which was some form or other of 8 year old domestic compact sedan without electric anything) and our 4 person crew - me, a Jamaican guy in his late 20s, and two older females who were in charge - grabbed our supplies and equipment and headed inside.

I took my bucket into the bathroom and went to work. I cleaned the toilet and then moved to the sink.

I was spraying the mirror with cleaner when I saw it and stopped.

In the lower, right corner of the mirror was a nickel-sized, dried, crusty booger. Nickel-sized. Dried. Crusty.

Now, the man who lived in this house had hired people to come and clean. He knew we were coming. He knew exactly what day we were coming and what we were going to his house to do.  And this person apparently felt comfortable leaving an enormous, petrified nose goblin for the help to sort out.

At this point in the story,  I want to reiterate that I am not above dirty work. But as I stared at this thing on his mirror, I realized that there was a principle involved here.

I calmly surveyed the bathroom until I saw what I was looking for. I removed the toothbrush from its holder, gave the booger a few extra direct sprays of glass cleaner, scrubbed the booger off with the toothbrush, briefly rinsed the toothbrush in the sink, and returned it to its holder. Then I went about my business, cleaning as usual.

That bastard likely never learned this important lesson about karma. I am hoping that by sharing my story, many of you can ... before it's too late.