DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I have spent approximately 24 hours over the past two weekends cleaning my house: steam-cleaning carpets, purging files, cutting and recycling cardboard boxes, caulking baseboard trim, rearranging furniture. Why would I do this? I’m afraid to say it’s evolutionary, a forgotten gene deep in my DNA that has awakened and is now guiding my actions, like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly when he inadvertently rewrites his gene structure in a freak teleportation accident and subsequently turns into a nightmarish, 185-lb. housefly… one day he’s a quirky scientist, the next day he’s barfing on Entenmann’s and hanging out on the ceiling.

Becoming a housefly is not the problem, but the transformation I’m facing does have symptoms. Here’s the diagnostic checklist:

• white T-shirt — check.
  
• wry smile — check.
  
• gold hoop earring — check.
  
• exaggerated upper-body musculature — working on that.
  
• bald pate — working on that too.
  
• spotless floors — check.

My worst fears are realized: I’m becoming Mr. Clean!