The water was scalding hot. She barely noticed. She managed to carry the bucket, a bundle of rags, and, with her elbow, crank up the radio in the kitchen. Bon Jovi filled the house with sound.

Where to start. From the top down. Like at the beginning. What exactly did that mean, start at the beginning? Did it mean when you were born? Did it mean at the onset of a special event? Whatever it meant, it was stupid. Start at the top. That meant the bathrooms, all three of them. Then she would have to scrub and polish the furniture, change the sheets on all the beds, carry the laundry downstairs or just shove it into the laundry chute and hope it got stuck like it sometimes did, eliminating the need to turn on the washer.

Water gurgled into the bathtub as she added Spic and Span to the water. The venetian blinds came down and were dumped into the tub. The toilets foamed with blue-and-white crystals. She blinked at the rust stains. She was really going to have to scrub those. The grout between the tiles on the floor caused her eyebrows to shoot upward. The cap came off the Clorox bottle, the contents spilling across the floor. Holding her nose so she wouldn’t breathe the fumes, she opened the window and turned on the exhaust fan before she closed the door and set about scrubbing and polishing the bedroom furniture she shared with Arnie.

Her next task was to change the gray-colored sheets on the bed. She tried to remember the last time she’d changed them, but she gave up.

Amy looked at the sheer curtains hanging on the windows. They were as gray as the sheets on her bed. She stood on a vanity bench and took them down. The washer was going to go all day long.

Bon Jovi had been replaced with Golden Oldies, and Elvis was now screaming about his “Blue Suede Shoes” as she huffed her way downstairs to put the dusty, musty, filthy curtains into the washer.

Amy looked at the clock. It was only nine o’clock.

She whirled around the kitchen. What should she do next? She opened the refrigerator. Obviously, everything had to go. Within minutes, the trash can was overflowing. It was a short walk through the kitchen to the back patio and the three, huge, outdoor trash cans.

By ten-thirty the refrigerator was cleaned out and only a gallon of milk remained. It was so sparkly clean, Amy thought about putting her sunglasses on. The stove gleamed, and the self-cleaning oven was working to remove the burned spills on the oven bottom. The counter was clean, all the junk from empty or near-empty containers also in the trash. It sparkled, as did the words Elvis was moaning about being moody blue. It must be Elvis day, she thought. That was okay, she loved Elvis.

Eleven-thirty found the living room vacuumed, furniture polished, windows cleaned, the blinds dusted. She made a startling discovery when she wiped the dust off the face of the television set. She didn’t need glasses after all. A wet rag had just saved her 150 dollars. She was so pleased with her discovery, she danced her way to the second floor and the girls’ rooms.