Ok so the Americans have Roswell, Australia has the Dingo that stole Azaria and the Brits have Princess Di's death ... and I have a conspiracy theory of my own.
It may not be as flashy or as interesting but I tell you, it is sooo real. On the edge of your seats?
Mops. I reckon that all mop companies have colluded to pull a massive swifty over me and every other housewife who likes a clean floor. They want us to buy a new mop a month. Not just a new head but an entirely new mop.
Back in the day, I had a very efficient cleaning company who'd handle all manner of mop related issues. I had nothing to do with how my floors were cleaned, they just got done. Yes I paid for this to happen but that was as far as I involved myself. However, when I was pregnant and unable to continue working anymore (long story, think spew and lots of it and then think how that might work with gaol cells and courtrooms and you get my drift) we put our house on the market in order to get us a "family home".
Suddenly how clean my floors were and how shiny they looked really mattered to me. I became fixated on mopping. I was sure that each potential buyer that came through and didn't make an offer was horrified at the non-shiny floor. So I decided to mop the floors a couple of times a day as well the myriad of other chores the nesting pregnant person deems essential.
When we moved to our current home I brought the mop with us. It was an Oates brand sponge head mop. Just in case you were wondering. It died just after my daughter was born. So I went to the supermarket to buy a replacement head for it. They didn't have the right one. So I went to KMart in the same mall. Nope, they didn't have it either. Frustrated and hot because it was January and I had a newborn attached to my chest by way of a sweat factory I mean a Baby Bjorn carrier, I just decided to ditch the Oates mop and buy a Vileda mop.
Obviously I wasn't in too much of a new baby daze at that moment because I was smart enough to buy every single replacement head the store had for that particular mop. I thought I was quite clever. That lasted a while. Until recently when the last mop head went to its final resting place. I went back to KMart. Nope they didn't have that head anymore. So I went to the supermarket, Bunnings, another KMart, BigW and two different branches of Woolworths. None sold the stupid Vileda head to fit our mop. I refused to be beaten again.
So I drove all over Sydney on the Easter weekend in search of this stupid mop head. I refused to be beaten by the conspiracy. Woolworths, Bunnings, Coles, Target, KMart and even The Reject Shop. I tried them. I rode that wave. And I was washed up.
Sad and beaten I limped home and admitted defeat. My husband looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. There was a time when I'd be broken by a really difficult criminal case or some awkward office politics but no not this time. I was broken by a mop. A mop conspiracy I tell you. And a big one at that.
So I walked up the road and I bought one of those old fashioned cotton mops at my local grocery store. The next week I realised I needed a squeezy bucket for it. Without the squeezy bucket you are just dragging a dirty muddy flood through your house. Because I left the mop soaking wet for a week it was ruined and I had to throw out the head and get a new one.
I went to Bunnings and bought a special squeezy bucket that came with two free Oates mop heads. Came home, tried to fit the free head onto the grocery store mop and of course it didn't work. So I went to Kmart. Nope no corresponding Oates mop there either.
So what did I do? Did I fall on the floor in a heap crying at KMart? No I did not. I stood tall. I bought 2 new mops. Yes two. One an Oates one, one a Vileda, I bought 8 replacement heads. A large Swiss Meringue and a large latte. I sat on the massage chair (you know the types at the shops where you pay $2 and sit on the vibrating chair like a freak?) and I ate my meringue and I drank my coffee and then I left.
I came home, kissed my husband, hugged my daughter and smiled. I was practically new age. I was practically one of those revolting happy positive idiots that read The Secret and other self help books. I was not broken and bitter because the mops had beaten me. I had surrendered myself to the mop conspiracy and I was no longer broken. So what, I have to spend a small fortune every month on mop supplies. I do not sweat the small stuff. I am a housewife extraordinaire.