But this is the kitchen we're talking about.  This is the flour-flinging, grease popping, drink-dripping, dishwater-sloshing, can't-hit-the-garbage-can capital of the world.  What idiot dreamed up the idea of putting carpet in there?

In a burst of energy, I decide to clean it.  Instead of cleaning up a spill, I've taken on a major project.  This requires strategic planning, funding approval, environmental impact studies, and notification of the next-of-kin.  All that has to happen before I fill the first bucket of water.

They all have the same brand of machine, a little red thing with a descriptive name that, loosely translated, means, "clean your Rug, see your Doctor."  It was designed to be used by a sumo wrestler who is no more than four feet tall and can pull a freight train uphill.  You take a unit that weighs fifteen hundred pounds empty, fill it with water, and drag it over your whole floor, one four-inch wide swath at a time.

That would be okay if it actually did any cleaning.  All this machine does is squirt a little water on the floor in front of a vibrating eyelash brush.   For every gallon it sprays, it picks up four ounces.

What ever happened to the old upright machines with a pair of rotating brushes?  Those things actually worked. I think the guys in the yellow trucks bought every last one and turned them into an artificial reef off the coast of Barbados.

Some places still rent the old-style steam cleaners.  They work alright, provided your carpet isn't really dirty to begin with.  At the risk of giving away family secrets, I had to move the refrigerator to see what color ours was supposed to be.  I needed something a little more macho.  This does not necessarily mean something that weighs more than my truck.

I guess the fact that I'm writing about my carpet instead of cleaning it tells you just how far this project will go.  In time, we may come to appreciate its evolving color.  Who knows, we may even buy appliances to match.  Do they come in splattered beige?