Here’s the story of cleanliness, moistness and steaming pineapples.
I’ve been thinking about God this week. And pineapples. Varied life my dear old brain leads. They say ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’. But godliness is a strange word. We don’t use it much anymore. Is it suggesting that being clean is as important as being religious, because if that’s the case, then atheists must be filthy. Godliness, of course, means ‘piety by virtue of being a godly person’. Doesn’t help, really. I mean, who uses the word piety nowadays? Upon reading this word, I thought it meant ‘the act of eating a pie’. This wonderment then gave me the urge to go and eat a pie. But we didn’t have any pies. But we had a pie-napple. Then I started thinking about pineapples. Mind you, I’m sure it’s not the only link between God and pineapples. Actually, it probably is. Hmm. Still fancy a pie, though.
I was wondering at what point in human evolution we started to fixate on cleanliness. I mean, our ancestors weren’t fixated on being clean. Except my ancestors. They were Italian. They were focused on enjoying the riches of life, good food, good wine, good loving. It’s probably why Italy is now bankrupt. Sorry about that.
I was cleaning this week. With a good old steamer. In a tight, confined space. Never used a steamer before. The first inclination I got that something was wrong was when no steam was coming out. It was belting out plenty of heat that I thought was steam because it had heated up the room and steamed up my glasses. Terrible rookie mistake. So I gazed down the barrel of the nozzle as any normal human would. The machine was so loud mother and father failed to hear my screams. And the additional screams after the water now spouting out of the end of the nozzle had covered the floor in uncomfortably warm water. But I persevered. Like all the great Italians. Antonio Meucci. The actual, completely proven, real inventor of the telephone. Who died without any recognition for his invention. Hang on, that was a terrible example. Damn. The Pope, then. He is Italian, right? No? Damn again.
It turns out, I’m not familiar with science. Water needs to heat up to boiling point to turn to steam, otherwise the steamer is nothing more than a glorified kettle. With no instructions, I pointed the nozzle at the tiles and fired. A quarter of one inch away from the tiles. The splashback hurt a lot more that time. Thankfully, I’m quick on my feet, even in my old age. This was primarily because the pool of water now covering the bathroom floor had made standing a luxury. So when the water hit me, it knocked me for six.
I never got the hang of that steamer. I managed to clean the bathroom, but in the process, I also managed to hurt myself and strip most of the tiles of their grouting. I don’t normally clean the bathroom that thoroughly. Or at all, for that matter. But my brother, his wife and their baby son, nearly one-year-old, are visiting this week. First time I’ve seen my nephew. Might want a bath. Personally, I wouldn’t risk it without a hardhat of some kind, because I have literally no clue what is keeping those tiles on that wall.
Gardening was also on the agenda this week. Thankfully, along with cleanliness, rain is next to godliness. Unmitigated, copious amounts of dubious rain. Honestly, what happened to summer? We have two months of summer at best, and instead, we have had thunderstorms, lighting, rain and snow. Seriously. Snow. In – whatever month it is. I’ve been to Florida. Twice. They have thunderstorms. After lovely, warm days. We just have thunderstorms. It’s like spending an evening with Angelina Jolie and all you do is knit. You know, knitting being my equivalent of a cigarette. What? Smoking is bad for you. Knit instead. The more you know, and so forth.
Love is the last thing on my mind. Probably. I’m not one with love. I’m not one with anything. That would change, however, if I could find a pie. I saw an old belle this week. Well, nothing ever happened. Life is like that when you’re an introvert. You just end up gawping quite a lot. 10 years since I last saw her. Still a gawper now. And she doesn’t know who I am. Gawp, indeed. But I’m not sullen. Why? I’ve just cheered myself up after realizing gawp is an incredibly fun word to say. Like moist. A moist gawp. Ooh, ‘eck. That sounded much better in my head.
But that old belle. The steamer. My godly, clean, pineapple woes. None of this matters. Not even the pie matters. Yes, I said that. And I mean it. I’m not at all, later today, going to find a pie and apologize for saying that as I tenderly bury my face in it. I have a nephew coming. I’m happy. Happiness is all around us if we look hard enough. No amount of steaming pineapples can change that.
I’ve never thought about it before now, but it’s true.
American political satirist, journalist, writer and author, Patrick Jake O’Rourke (b. 1947), once said: “Cleanliness becomes more important when godliness is unlikely”.
Peace Out :|:
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