An Adventure in Powerwashing

This morning while I was trying to have a leisurely day at home, wearing my favorite old man cardigan and my favorite too-big sweats, my TLC and Lifetime Movie Network watching was interrupted by the sound of powerwashing outside the condo complex. And then outside my front door.

Before you start judging me too much, it wasn’t like I was watching Honey Boo Boo. I have nothing to say about the Lifetime Movie Network. It just kind of happened, guys, and I’m unashamed.

But that’s not the low point of my day. I’d say under normal circumstances, it probably would be. But I combined my laziness with juuuuuuuust enough kitchen cleaning to seem as though I were working hard and being a productive member of society. And when I thought about how I could wait yet another week or so to purchase an outside broom or take care of the mass amounts of cobwebs in the doorframe (although they were really apropos for Halloween, so THANKS A LOT, outside cleaning people, for de-festivizing our home), I was pretty pleased and grateful. I daresay I was almost excited when I told Husband all about how things were beautiful and sparkly clean from our front door to the … rest of the world outside our complex. That’s a lot of ground they covered. I mean, I’m assuming because I still haven’t actually gone outside. The natural light. It makes me melt.

But when Husband left home to return to work post-lunch, I stepped onto the entryway mat and that’s when I realized something was not right.

First of all, it was kind of wet. And if I were to choose one thing I really hated above everything else, I’d have to say it’s being wet for no good reason. So I naturally looked down to figure out what was going on. I was about ready to blame Husband for dragging in random water, but then it occurred to me.

Photo courtesy of the powerwashers.

Door insulation. Not so hot.

I will say there haven’t been any other indicators that the door insulation wasn’t that good – after all it takes all my body weight to close the door and we remain very warm. And I suppose it might actually be fine, except in instances of people spraying it down with a powerwasher. But that doesn’t help me feel that much better about puddles of filthy water festering around my entryway and laundry room. That’s yuck.


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