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I grew up in a pristine home. I don’t mean to say that it was fancy — it wasn’t — but it was spotless from the fan blades down to the baseboards. This was no easy feat, considering our house was a century old and so had the unique ability to create dust after you had just wiped down that surface (whatever that surface happened to be).

Even still, those ugly faux-brick linoleum kitchen floors (and the blonde wood that later replaced them) were literally clean enough to eat off of — and that was all thanks to my German mother.

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