I am easily one of the messiest people I know. My only close rival is my significant other, so with our powers combined, our tiny apartment often looks post-apocalyptic, to say the least.
So Spring cleaning isn't so much a joy as it is a painful, season-long exercise in heavy lifting and archaeological discoveries of historic significance.
In my mind, my apartment is a beautifully stylish minimalist paradise.
Is there a housework equivalent of Viagra?