Cranberry Juice

Friday night Josh and I traded in our date night for a total recall of our apartment...AKA we deep-cleaned the whole place. We did an enormous amount of laundry, I taught Josh how to clean the bathroom properly, I made the tile floors shine, and we generally organized and picked up our entire apartment. It was exhausting but so satisfying to wake up Saturday morning in freshly laundered sheets in a sunny room that was finally devoid of excess papers and clothes.

Did I mention that I swept and mopped all the tile? I even moved all the furniture out of the kitchen so I could get at every nook (but not the crannies--I leave those alone). So imagine my distress when Saturday afternoon I pulled out a brand new bottle of icky cranberry juice to drink (my doctor says it's good for you) and shook it--right out of my hands. It slipped out and smashed full-force all over my newly cleaned floor. Plus it was a seven-dollar bottle of gross juice, so that really bothered me. It was only later as I bemoaned the sticky, stained, glass-strewn tile that I realized a stupid chunk of glass had smacked my knuckle so hard that it caused an immediate bruise. Then later, as I mopped up the sticky mess and picked up the giant pieces of glass, I found the streak of juice on my ankle and toe wasn't juice--that stupid bottle had cut me twice. I hate getting cut.

Later, as I looked at the floor and cupboards to make sure I hadn't missed any juice, I realized that my first mopping wasn't good enough. Although it took out the red stain, it left a sticky residue that Josh didn't notice in his sock-covered feet (Quit walking around in socks, Josh!) but that I couldn't ignore. I had to mop it all over again. Saturday was not a fun day for me.