Floors Me

"Floors me" is an old fashioned expression that everyone seems to know. Who said it first? There are countless ways of using the term "floors me" but I can't find who spoke it first. Maybe AI? The word "floor" has actually to do with floors. When you are "floored" you might be struck down so that you end up on the floor. Take boxing for example. But what floors me today, is my neighbour upstairs who I hope doesn't read this blog. She is a lovely lady, and not specifically the kind of whom I rant about, even though she is a floor worshipper according to the tending sounds I hear above.  The floor fetish people are those who must have perfect floors. I am not among that breed and I insist that my housekeeper never shine my floors. I have, deliberately, the kind of flooring that is made to look like real wood, but which it isn't, thank goodness, because real wood floors take a lot of fussing. My plasticky floor will last far longer than real wood because plasticky things do. That's a good and a bad thing. But today, I refer to the persons who are not happy unless their floors are shiny. The purpose of a floor is for walking upon. Have we lost that idea?  I can heartily understand that when someone tracks grit inside or an animal tracks and that the floor owner might become a bit obnoxious over it. Out would come the mop, and the track leavings would hopefully disappear because no matter how casual you are about the floors in your home, you want them to look presentable. Furthermore, if you leave mud or any kind of goo on your floor, it has a way of spreading viciously. The floor fetish humans of whom I speak, are those who spend hours at their floors. They steam them, they polish them, vacuum them and scrub them. They become upset when someone drops anything, including water onto their floors. Examples of this kind of illness in seeing floors as iconic, are something that I don't understand. These kinds of floors apparently should never be trod upon because it might destroy their pristine appearance. What are floors for?  My mother would not dole out our weekly allowance until we girls, had not only washed the kitchen and bathroom floor, but also, applied a layer of self polishing wax liquid that took an hour to dry. We wanted to get to the Saturday matinee.  We learned very quickly, the age-old rule of "don't paint yourself into a corner" for one thing.  Once, we made a terrible mistake, and neglecting in our haste, to read the words on the container, applied, instead of liquid wax, window washer, the kind that dries and forms a gritty paste. Collecting our allowance that Saturday took so long that we missed the movie matinee entirely. One of my friends today, inspects her floor diligently as soon as the housekeeper goes out the door. And if she can spot in the light of the window  any sort of cross hatching marks rather than going-with-the-grain ones on the hardwood,  she is very unhappy and has words with her cleaning lady. I have warned my cleaning lady never to put a shine on my floors. She may mop them and wipe up any spots but she is never to wax. My brother in law who never reads my blog, so I am safe, gets hysterical if my sister drops even water on his floors because he is the one who washes them. To a fault. It floors me. Large, tall office buildings spend huge amounts of money hiring people to keep their floors shiny. They have floor mavens who work all night because in the day, there are too many people spoiling their work. They do this fetish every single day. It floors me.