I might disagree with her views on running, but when it comes to housework, Joan Rivers and I are on the same wavelength:
My floors have never been scattered in diamonds unless that's a particularly creative term for the very occasional 'present' left by Milly, toenails left by Love Chunks, screwed up Lindor wrappers wedged in between the sofa cushions by me and tiny pyramids of sand caused when Sapphire takes her sneakers off.
I'm always willing to overlook the added texture of our floors until the mat in the living room becomes a flat version of Milly the dog - orange, furry and a tad smelly. Then I'll give it a half-hearted once-over with the Hoover and maybe put the pointy nozzle thing on to suck up any grey dust bunnies that dodged the brush head.
When the toilet starts to answer me back, it gets a good scrubbing and the shower gets a going-over at the same time my own body does. Dusting occurs about as often as the equinox, and ornaments on display are kept to a minimum to ensure that this twice-yearly schedule isn't interrupted or increased in any way.
The best cleaning item is the humble blue Chux wipe - coffee cup rings, milky cereal spills, rice grains, sweetcorn hairs and fingerprints all disappear. The second best item is the recycle wheelie bin: a week's worth of newspapers and junk mail off the kitchen table and into the bin - voila! Tidy! Borry the dishwasher is third, bless his hunky stainless steel heart.
I'd rather spend my time sitting outside under the pergola chatting to Sapphire as she cuddles the rabbit, eat chocolate, write, read, eat whatever Love Chunks has cooked, socialise, watch telly, rub Milly's belly, run, laugh, slosh shower water onto the garden and pick up dog turds so that we can safely walk in the garden.
My ex-Dummies editor once said, 'My 92 year old Gran used to say, 'Nobody notices the dust after the second glass of sherry.'
Hear Hear. *clink*