I am not fond of cleaning. I never was, and I never will. Even as a kid, my mother tried all types of shams to make me clean the room, from innocent promises of sweets to vicious threats of being denied my allowance for the week. Well, my mother, the sweetest angel, rarely went to either extreme, so I only ended up cleaning my room for about twice a year.

These days, my wife is the one constantly annoyed at my apparent lack of cleaning genes. In these cases, I always ensure her that I do like a clean house; what I don't like is having to do the task myself. As half the breadwinner in the house, I believe I have things to do that are more important than trivial cleaning.

In the end, my wife and I reached a compromise that I'm comfortable with: I do not lift a finger in the cleaning of the house, but in return, I'm the one responsible for fixing all the broken stuff around the house. Everything from faulty pipes to home improvement projects are my domain. This is a perfect arrangement for me; I have a vow to never clean in the house.

However, I still reserve the right to volunteer cleaning. I know I just said I hated it, but no self-respecting husband would let his wife clean the dirty, mucked up bathroom floor. So whenever she starts picking up the bathroom cleaning tools, I stop her and insist on doing it myself instead. And so, twice a month I find myself scrubbing at bathroom grout.

I got to tell you; grout cleaning is no easy task. The best way to deal with it to date is to clean it as often as possible before it sets in. Once it does, it just seems to stick in place. it'll take me hours to remove it, and even then, there's this trace that you simply can't get rid of.

I abhor bathropom cleaning.