I get it, Lucy.

A friend of mine always tells me that my life is an ongoing episode of the “I Love Lucy” show.  Last night, while I was trying to corral an Industrial Floor Scrubber on my mom’s floors, I could definitely see his point.  It was a YouTube moment for sure.

First of all, the thing weighed 110lbs.  I’m not kidding.  I looked it up after I finished loading it, so I know what my max squatting weight is right now.  The way it works is you turn it on and HOLD ON FOR DEAR LIFE.  It whipped me around the house like a rag doll, and I weigh much more than its 110lbs.  Here’s a picture the darn thing:

floor scrubber

But keep in mind that this picture is of a fairly new machine.  The one that I rented was probably manufactured sometime in the 70s and it looks like it’s been used every day since.  It is nicked and scarred, probably from all of the renters that lost control of the damn thing and watched it speed across the floor only to run into the fireplace.  That may, or may not, have happened to me.  A few times.

Y’all, forget Pilates.  Toss out your elliptical machine.  There is no better full-body workout than the Clarke 17″ Floor Scrubber with blue pad.  I feel like I rode a bull and lived to tell about it.  My mother’s walls can probably say the same thing.

We’ve been working like dogs to clear everything out of mom’s house and to pull up all of the flooring.  The next step is to treat for fleas (did you know those suckers can survive without carpet, animals, or humans?) and then lay new flooring, but the Exterminator shook his head at the amount of flea powder that my adorable sister spread along the baseboards of the entire house.  He said it would have to come up before he could treat it.

That crap is like talcum powder, so no matter how many times we swept the floors, there was still a layer of dust.

Enter the Clarke 17″ Floor Scrubber, aka The Bull.

By the time I finished the main parts of the house (living room, dining room, hallway, and master bath), I was soaked in sweat and panting like the work dog that I am.  And then I started to cry.  Let’s call it a stress-relief session, masquerading as despair over the fact that there was no way that I could finish the other two bedrooms, let alone even think about how I was going to corral The Bull into their tiny closets.  I decided that I would return the next day with a good old-fashioned mop and bucket.  And hopefully, whatever little sanity I had left.

I drug The Bull out to my car, and realized that I had to lift the damn thing up and into my small SUV in order to return it.

crying-i-love-lucy1

Yep, I get it, Lucy.  I get it.

Comments

  1. Awesome; 🙂

  2. You poor kid!!!!!

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