I used to get Martha Stewart Living magazine. I'd oooh and ahhh over the gorgeous photography, dream of a perfectly clean, beautifully decorated home filled with "good things", and even contemplate making some of the recipes. The cat and I would curl on the couch in the mornings to watch her show and I'd buy Martha Stewart accessories at Kmart hoping to somehow become stylish, crafty, and organized. I was a new wife and clearly insane.
After a few years, I let my subscription run out. I never renewed because trying to force my Type B personality (& I'm even on the low end of that scale. B minus? C?) into Martha's super hyper Type A(+++!) lifestyle was stressing me out. Since then, I've accepted the fact that I am just not cut out to be a poster girl for good, or even mediocre, housekeeping and that I probably need a maid to follow me around, cleaning up after me - professional help, if you will. I'm a really good cook, have a thriving herb garden and while I might not have the tidiest house ever, I'm happier than most people I know, so who cares?
But yesterday I decided the mildew situation in the shower was starting to look like a science project. I got out some bleach cleaner and a scrubber. The bottle said that it would kill mildew at its roots (mildew has roots?) and I wanted that stuff dead forever. No zombie mildew, thankyouverymuch. And as I climbed into the shower to slay whatever beasties were lurking in there, I started to laugh. Whatever the Martha-approved method for cleaning showers was, this was most definitely not it... because there I was scrubbing away like a maniac, wearing nothing but a towel, Crocs on my feet and smile. (hey, I didn't want to get my clothes all wet. How do you do it?)
I eventually got the shower clean, and after that myself, but I really hope that the jerk who invented shower doors is now being slow roasted in hell.