Dirt, mud, dust, crumbs, stains, mould. Jean Pristine had sworn to eradicate them all. Her multi-pocketed custom-made apron was testament to her war on domestic grime, her body armour against the flak of filth. Loaded with an arsenal capable of taking out every last speck of dust from two floors of a large office building, the duster-yellow pinny was home to an array of tools and weapons: cloths, brushes, antiseptic sprays, disinfectants, a pink telescopic feather duster, a magnifying glass, and a small high-suction portable vacuum cleaner for accessing those places her Dyson DC33i just couldn’t reach.
Today, however, Jean had ventured into enemy territory – the garden. She tossed a handful of dirt over the freshly dug six-foot-long flowerbed. She’d loved Jack so much when they’d first got married. As a wedding gift he’d bought her a life-time supply of grease-remover tablets. He’d even taken the trouble to include a Betterware convention as part of their honeymoon package. She’d been so happy. But not long into their marriage she’d found out about his dirty secret. She didn’t want to accept it at first. She felt betrayed. Then he started bringing his filth into the house. It all came to a head when she’d found the magazines. She’d confronted him and he'd confessed.
She sighed and picked up the magazines. Taking one final glance at their repulsive covers, she threw them into the small incinerator on the lawn. If she’d known Jack was a gardener, she’d never have married him.