A delicious smell greeted me when I got home tonight.
Was it home-baked brownies? Freshly cut grass? Coco Mademoiselle?
Yes, it was the smell of "someone's been in my home and now it's cleaner than when I left this morning!"
But not in a creepy way. As in, I let them in and paid for them to be there.
It was the vacuuming that broke me. I don't mind laundry. I can handle a spot of ironing, a few dishes, the occasional scrubbing.
But for whatever reason, vacuuming is reeeeeally high on my list of least-favorite-things-ever. My personal vision of Hell is having to spend the rest of eternity vacuuming while being fed only pickles (I haaaaaaate pickles!)
So finally, I cracked. I booked a Handy cleaner, because that's what modern Londoners do! I lined up all my cleaning supplies for her to use, including the dreaded vacuum. I greeted the stunningly-gorgeous cleaner/apparent supermodel who showed up, and I breezed off to work, looking forward to some sparkle in my countertops.
And when I came home....Pine. Lemons. Lavender. Fresh air. Lotus flowers. The smell of clean.
Perhaps I'm imagining all that. Maybe it just smells like astringent.
But there's no denying the sparkle.