Let down

Today, something I held to be true suddenly was not. I was struck anew with the realization that one can’t make assumptions, that nothing can be taken for granted. See, today, I managed to create a stain that my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser could not remove. 

The horrors!

I know, I’m being a slightly dramatic. But I thought that the Eraser could take care of anything and up until today, it did! Scuff marks on the floor, juice stains on the countertop, and what-the-heck-is-that on the bathroom door were no match for it. When JG informed me this afternoon that a plate I’d used had left a tomato saucy ring on top of our white, two-week-old microwave, I confidently strode to the bin of cleaning supplies. I grabbed the Eraser, ran it under water, and rubbed at the orange circle, waiting for the magic to happen. But it didn’t! Unnerved, I rubbed harder. The tremors I created made the glass plate in the microwave clamor and the box of plastic storage bags on top jump. Still, the stain persisted.

I had no Plan B because the Eraser had never failed me, so I jumped over the line into illogical action and grabbed a bottle of Windex. I was hoping to spring out into the living room and proclaim, like the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding might, “I found a new use for Windex! It gets tomato sauce stains out of microwaves!” Spray, wait, rub. No luck. I wasn’t totally surprised, since I blindly chose the thinnest, bluest cleaner in the closet.

It was time for the Big Guns, e.g. the spray bottle of bleach water and the green scratchie thing. You know what I mean. It’s that layer of abrasive padding on those fancy curved sponges. And the bleach – well, doesn’t bleach make everything white? Even microwave walls?

After I sprayed the bleach water on the ring and let it sit for a bit, I went at the stubborn offender with a vengeance, wielding my green scratchie and feeling rather like Lady MacBeth. Praying I didn’t take any paint off, I built up some arm muscle in that fight against the stain. C’mon, I grunted through gritted teeth, this has to work. It didn’t have to, but thankfully, it did. Just a few minutes later, I couldn’t tell where to scrub and the microwave passed JG’s inspection.

I’m in some kind of mourning over the passing of my dependence on the Eraser. I guess occasions pop up when it doesn’t cut it compared good, old-fashioned elbow grease. I just wish my nose weren’t wrinkling up because my hands smell like bleach. Ick.