As a general rule, cleaning a tiny house or RV shouldn’t take long. It’s not like trying to clean a 4000 square foot mcmansion or anything.
However, when the three occupants of the RV each have their own hoarding issues, it can get interesting. I hoard craft supplies, Sunshine hoards hunting supplies, and Mollie hoards squeak-toys.
Well, Monday I got it into my head that I was cleaning house.
I started with getting the bread crumbs that had turned into croutons, the hair tumbleweeds, and the dirt and grass out of the floor. That went so well that I had to unstop the vacuum cleaner hose more than four times.
Next step? Mop the freshly vacuumed floors. Thank heaven this step went a little easier.
After that, rather than dust the furniture like any sane person would do before moving on to cleaning the bathroom, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to organize the house.
I started with the kitchen sink base cabinet and the cabinet over the sink. That went well enough, I suppose. Then I attacked my craft supply hoard. That took some time but didn’t lead to much in the way of misadventures.
For some insane reason, I then decided to clean the dash of the RV, which is where Sunshine stores shoes, boots, and archery equipment. Well, for some reason, I decided that, in order to clean and organize the dash, I needed to organize the pile of shit sitting in the driver’s seat.
Don’t ask me how organizing the pile of shit in the driver’s seat resulted in me stuck under the bed. Just take my word for it. My mind is a very strange place, and even I am frightened by its methodology.
Anyway, back to me being stuck under the bed. It’s an RV, so it’s a platform bed. With pneumatic shocks that hold the mattress up in the air so that important shit can be stored under there. Important shit like: old photographs, blankets, space heaters, and Christmas trees. Also? Toilet paper. Because you can never ever have too much toilet paper.
So there I was, crawling up under the bed to stash something (for the life of me, I can’t even remember what the fuck it was) up under the bed at the farthest end, face down. My head was somewhere near the tail-lights of the magic bus up under the bed, body resting on a pile of backpacks/space heaters/blankets, with a plunger stabbing my ribs, one hand stuck reaching over my head toward that farthest recess of the space, one hand braced on the floor to hold me up enough that I didn’t become impaled on said plunger, legs resting on the frame of the bed, feet dangling in mid-air somewhere near Sunshine’s very expensive painter’s easel that stands somewhere in the vicinity of the door to the bathroom…
And I couldn’t get out.
Yet I was too ashamed to just stay there until Sunshine got back from town.
I lay there and thought about my predicament, wiggling my feet helplessly in mid air.
Suddenly, one of my feet made contact with the door frame. I then used the door frame as leverage to use my feet to inch myself out from under the bed, all the while praying that I didn’t shake the bed frame hard enough to drop the bed and sever my legs.
Obviously I survived.
I almost didn’t tell this story, but I realized that some people might get a laugh out of it. And if I can bring a smile to someone else with my painful story of maximum awkwardness, then fuck it, I’m in.
final note: I also hoard giraffes. It’s getting scary. Fuck it, at least it isn’t like creepy baby dolls staring at us from every corner or anything.