This is a good rendering of where the cleaning products must have been while my apartment was being 'professionally cleaned'. Or at least that's where I assume they went, because it's taken a week to scrub the twenty years of dust off of my blinds, and the mysterious white fingerprints off the bathroom door (crime scene investigation, perhaps?). I finally live in a studio that I want to sit down in, thank goodness. Now that the place finally sparkles I can invite Paris and Nicky over for some cup o' noodles.
I can just see the bleach and the disinfectant wipes now, relaxing somewhere in Tahiti. Maybe they're even enjoying margueritas. Meanwhile, my clothes and silverware in their drawers are being ferociously attacked by bacteria. See them out in the ocean, panicking as the peramecium lunges for a sleeve?
With all this sand, sun, and surf, maybe this scene should be retitled 'Bleachwatch'. Coming to the WB this fall.