Today was another example of my guerilla cleaning: I never know when the urge to clean will hit.
I stepped outside with my broom only to sweep the fuzzies off of the welcome mat (our dryer vent is near the front door, resulting in dryer lint gluing itself to the mat, which seems to attract it like a moth to a flame). As I swept, I noticed a clean path on what I thought was a clean concrete surface. I realized all that fine outside dust was drifting in every time we opened the front door.
The sponge mop was in my hand before I knew it, and the tile floor received a better scrubbing than the previous quick passes with my Swiffer. I was on a roll, and next blotted upholstery cleaner onto My Guy’s favorite chair since he would be off at his art class all morning.
I turned on the ceiling fans and settled down on the couch with my book to wait for things to dry.
In spite of the fans, and the air conditioner that’s supposed to be sucking humidity from the air, 45 minutes later the floor was exactly as wet as when I’d sat down and the chair felt like I’d thrown a bucket of water at it. This was definitely not Massachusetts.
The floor was so wet, if My Guy returned anytime soon from class, he would be splayed across the hall tile the moment his foot crossed the threshold. I tiptoed across the wet floor carefully (I’d already had my own Humpty Dumpty moment on the tile two years ago) and grabbed a bath towel, with which I then skated around the floor. The chair was another matter; even 5 minutes with the hairdryer didn’t help. A beach towel over it would have to do.
On the plus side, it was so ungodly muggy outside today my French bread rose in record time on the lanai.