Cleaning Buddies: Double Team Your Clean

When I was a young pup, full of self-loathing and sloshing reservoirs of fluids, I would often endear myself to others by cleaning up their homes. It started with my friend John, in whose room I would often find rotting piles of chicken underneath Star Wars toys, stormtroopers drowning in a pool of fetid ranch dressing. While John spent a couple of hours in his bathroom teasing his hair with “Aussie”-brand hair spray, I would take all his dishes downstairs, pick up the dump, and pocket all his loose change. John and I were already fast friends—he named the child his wife and I made after himself, even—but John’s fantasy-fueling mother sure thought I was hot stuff. (Although never hot enough to let me put up a tent in her room, despite dropped hints and sly, pimple-encrusted winks.)

It’s a good technique, and one you should all have in your arsenal; no one can resist a man who does a sink full of their dishes. And more practically, a friend can always clean your house better than you can, because your friend just sees your clutter for what it is, ascribing no subconscious meaning or memories to your junk. A friend can’t be sentimental about your movie ticket stubs, unwashed t-shirts, and highly collectible issue two of Spawn. If you’ve got a buddy who also lives in squalor, offer a trade: you’ll come clean his sty if he cleans yours. Your pal will probably throw away a bunch of “valuable” stuff, but you’ll probably never even know it’s missing.