Bubbly Scrubbing Bubbles Tickle My Fancy

I mentioned my cleaning supplies addiction in another post. It's an issue I have and I realized that, like toilet paper, it's something created by The Man that I  buy into a little too heartily.

Remember those Scrubbing Bubbles commercials? That was probably my favorite commercial as a kid. The bubbles were fun, but hard working. They worked so I didn't have to. Life was brighter, cleaner, happier. Life became a nice cartoon full of scrubbling bubbles that said it was fun to clean tubs.

I'm 33 years old and I still, for some reason, totally buy this. Well, and the stuff actually works. I use it to clean my stove top, my toilet, the bathroom counters. It probably won't be much longer before I start cleaning my car with it. Or course, I'm probably killing off the world with cancer causing carcingens, but I don't have time to think about that. My tub is clean within a matter of minutes, dammit.

On the other hand, I've never bought the first box of Calgon. The commercial horribly altered my mental status everytime it came on in between Little House on the Prairie and The Price is Right.

What was I supposed to make of this woman upset with the baby and the traffic and her boss and whatever else was impeding her hope for a Zen mindset? And then the baby is thrown into a worling vortex with all those loud, horrible things. Finally, the lady is out of her body binding, over secretaried clothing bathing ever so peacefully in a bath full of bubbles.

But not bubbles that clean, mind you. Not the happy cartoons promising a happy, clean life. No, these are Alzheimer's bubbles. The woman can forget the traffic and the boss and her baby. Oh my God. Where is the baby? Where is the baby?

It always made me think mothers didn't really want their babies and had no problem tossing them into a whirlpool with a shitty male chauvinist boss. I mildly feared that I'd one day find a shiny box of Calgon in the bathroom and then where would I be? What would become of me, the poor girl who just wanted to watch Laverne and Shirley and wish for bubbles that did all the work for me so I'd have more time to watch Laverne and Shirley? Oh my god. Maybe my mother wanted more time for Laverne and Shirley, too.

At any point, that ad may have worked for the stressed out women of the Eighties. But if the daughters of the Eighties are anything like me, they shudder every time they happen to notice a box of Calgon in the HBA section.

I've spent some time thinking of my cleaning supplies addiction since I mentioned it a couple of days ago. I love them. The boxes and jugs and cans are bright and appealing. They scream, "Buy me! I'll make you happy!" It's an odd thought that I rely so much on color to buy things when I have absolutely no problem buying cheese wrapped in black plastic. 

I have a lot of theories rolling around about my problem. The first is I don't like cleaning. I hate cleaning. I adore having a clean house, but I hate cleaning. Maybe I think that these products are actually going to do "all the work" for me and I keep buying them under that delusion.

Maybe it's just because like everyone raised in a consumer society, I like to buy things. But considering that I have a limited budget, I can't really buy things without some guilt issues. My shoes are too big or falling apart or scuffed beyond repair. But I can't allow myself to buy shoes until I'm walking out of them because shoes do not benefit anyone but myself.

But cleaning supplies. Ah. Every house needs cleaning supplies. Children need a clean home. Therefore cleaning supplies are a neccessity. I can take guests on a meandering walk-through of my cluttered and over crowded house and show them my collection of Scrubbing Bubbles, Dry Erase Markers, bleach, toilet cleansers, Mean Green, Krud Kutter, Pine-Sol, and Simple Green products and it's supposed to infer that I do clean. That cleaning is very important. It's a show and tell lie. I'd rather mow the grass or read a book than spend one moment of life scrubbing something.

I tend to spend more on cleaning supplies when I am angry. When the boys' father decided he'd find life more fitting if he had an extra woman, I scrubbed everything in sight. A little after the time I discovered her surrepticious presence in my life, we saw each other in the grocery section of Walmart. We talked for a little while because I was determined  to be the better woman. To be civil and mindful that she was a victim of an asshole. It turns out she was also batshit crazy, but that's another matter.

At any point, as we talked, I kept readjusting the new broom and long handled scrub brush so it wouldn't poke other shoppers. I was buying the scrub brush because it was something I needed to clean the tub. I'd also loaded myself down with a Pine-Sol and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and whatever else I could afford to scrub the shit out of my life. I suppose I have an unconscious belief that if I clean hard enough, then all my problems will be carried off by those happy bubbles.

Scrub the baseboards? Faithless Oedipal man gone. Clean out the cabinets and throw out old spices? The crazy bitch who cut me off in traffic is dust. Scrub the filter in the stove vent? The cruddy seals leaking oil in my ancient car is of no consequence. It's a weird quirk.

My angry cleaning is probably some "positive" feminine channel I utilize to appropriately express my discontent. Positive if scrubbig the top layer off a plastic tub while squishing every violent word and thought into a fire-proof safe is considered positive. But I'd much rather drive over people, then get out and kick them in the ass. Somehow, expressing one's anger in the exact way one prefers is deemed "socially unacceptable."

So today's post is a quick psychological study of why woman may spend money on cleaning products. On top of all that, I think I'm just supposed to buy them. I get kind of excited about them. I realized that before I started this blog. It came to me when I bought this.

It promised me a fresh toilet bowl for something like two weeks. Well, first off I couldn't figure out to use it so I wasted four  . . . servings because I kept putting it in the wrong place. Apparently you shouldn't put it right where the water flows into the bowl. On top of that, the cruddy hard water stains have not magically disappeared. I'm a little disappointed.

I can't sit here and tell you how much money I spend a month in cleaning supplies. If I had money, I bought cleaning supplies. Because, you know, I needed them. I've said before that I don't necessarily do a better job of handling my money than the average person, but that I believe I my children shouldn't do without any more than they have to. Cleaning supplies fell under the "must have" list.

However, there are a lot of cleaners you can make that are supposed to be better for the environment and they are infinitely cheaper. Care2 is a great website for hunting down how to do such things. This month, I'm going to focus on breaking the scrubbing bubbles addiction. I'll let you know how it goes.