I moved into a historic Victorian apartment recently, that was previously inhabited by a smoking auto mechanic. I'm all about affordable! The previous renter left a trail of oil up the stairs and into the living room. I can tell exactly where the Lazy Boy sat. Therefore the place required a thorough cleaning. Also, the place smelled like smoke until I doused it with Pine Sol. Now it smells like the woods! Since I had to watch the kids (my sisters are "the kids") I decided to occupy them by putting them to work. All was going well, until I realized that I needed my favorite cleaning product the Magic Eraser. Forget paint, my walls could be salvaged by Mr. Clean. I wish Mr. Clean was a real person. I definitely wouldn't mind having a fit, trustworthy man around to change my light bulbs, take out the trash, clean the bathroom, do the heavy lifting, ect. And it would be soooo convenient to just pick him up at Walmart whenever I needed him. So that day, before heading out to Walmart I explained to the kids that I needed to get a Magic Eraser. They looked up at me with wide eyes and said "Oh a maaagic eraser!! Is it really magic?! Is it like a maaaagic wand?!!" I responded, "Well sorta" it'll get the scuffs off the wall. So we headed out to pick up the cleaning tool that's straight out of Harry Potter and came back to remove scuffs... and I put them back to work.
