Confessions of a Dusting Deserter
What’s Wrong with Being a Dusting Deserter?
Of all the chores that one ought to perform in a typical household, the one I hate the most is dusting. Recently I experienced a minor revelation when I posted a couple of photos of my extensive collection of vintage Mosser cats to the Mosser Cat Central group on Facebook. Enlarging the photos for a closer view provided more embarassing detail than I had expected: dust and more dust. Oh, my!
Of course the dust that had seeped into my cabinet with the glass cats was by no means the worst of the miserable particles coating the surfaces in my house. I had to do something about this! Motivation was the main problem, but I had to start somewhere . . . and the cats on display were target #1. Over a couple of weekends, I removed every glass cat from the cabinet, bathed each one, wiped the glass shelves, and returned the cats to their places.
When that was done, I pushed myself to tackle other areas. On Saturdays when I wanted to spend all my time sinking into some good fiction, I forced myself to grab bucket and cloth and attack the layers of dust that had settled on EVERYTHING! I even managed to do a bit of housework during the week when I returned home from my paid job and on Sundays between the morning and evening church services. It took a few weeks, but I was pleased with the results . . . until I noticed that the pesky dust was coming back AGAIN!
What’s So Funny about Dust?
When it comes to my recent dusting efforts, I have tried my best to exhibit a cheerful spirit . I decided to see if ChaptGPT could identify some positive humor about the unpleasant activity of dusting.
- “I’m not lazy. I’m just in a long-term relationship with dust.”
- “I consider dust part of my home’s rustic charm.”
- “Some people collect stamps. I collect dust bunnies.”
- “If the dust doesn’t bother the cats, it doesn’t bother me.”
- “I have ‘Cleaning ADD.’ I start dusting, and–six loads of laundry, a sparkling toilet, and reorganized cabinets later–I still haven’t dusted yet.”
- “This isn’t dust. It’s a protective coating for my furniture.”
- “That’s not dust. It’s vintage air.”
- “Some call it dusty. I call it an historical preservation effort.”
- “Dusting: because your houseplants shouldn’t be the only things breathing in dirt.”
- “My lack of dusting ability will finally pay off. . . on Halloween.”
ChatGPT generously provided a number of possible titles for this post about how I hate dusting. Several clever possibilities resulted from that inquiry:
“Dust to Dust: My Eternal Battle With Household Filth”
“Attack of the Dust Bunnies: Why I’d Rather Do Literally Anything Else”
“Dusting: The Chore That Time Forgot (But My Shelves Didn’t)”
“Let It Settle: My Philosophy on Dust and Sanity”
“Swipe Left on Dusting”
“Dust Happens: A Tragic Tale of Injustice and Allergies”
“Why I Dust Once a Season (and That Season Is Panic)”
“The Great Dust Conspiracy: Is It Out to Get Me?”
“I Came, I Saw, I Sneezed: My War on Dust”
If Dust Is Endless, Is It Hopeless?
So is there any lasting hope for a person who is allergic to both dust and dusting? I am not sure whether there is. One thing I have found: a saying that represents exactly how I feel about the whole matter. Here it is:
“I dusted once. It came back. I’m not falling for that again.”
Or, in other words:
“Dust today . . . and it’ll be back tomorrow. Why start the cycle?”
