Everything on our property is dirty.
The eaves on the house are coated with tree crud. The siding on the shed is turning green. The armada, every boat of it, is slimy on the bottom and grimy on the top. And don’t even get me started on the cars.
And, now, today, at the ripe old age of 47, I have learned why we haven’t been able to keep things clean.
We didn’t have a power washer!
Or, we did, but it didn’t work. Kevin took it to the shop this week, and two days and 87 dollars later, we had a working power washer.
He brought it home today, hooked up the water, fired up the motor, and WHSSSSH! Out came a jet that would do a riot control officer proud.
Kevin aimed it at the big boat, and the deck started to look, if not absolutely white, at least something on the right side of gray. The center console had turned positively black, and the water ate through the potent combination of mildew, mold, and seagull shit like it was nothing.
I hereby declare that I will never again be without a power washer. I am done – done! – with all this scrub-a-dub-dub bullshit. Elbow grease may be fine for building character, but when it comes to actually cleaning stuff, a 6.75-horsepower engine is what’s called for.
Do you suppose they make one for indoors?