How [not] to clean a bathtub

My grandmother’s so-called “miracle” cleaner (2023 edition).
Not that I’m endorsing it. I’m too old to be an influencer.

My Dutch grandmother (Oma) swore by the cleaning product Vim, pronounced “Fim” in Dutch. (The V sound in Dutch is used only for W’s.) To this day, whenever I use Oma’s favourite cleaner, I hear her voice exclaiming, “Gebruik maar de Fim!”: Just use the Vim.

I’ve used the “cream” version for years to clean our bathtub. Recently, Mr. Fluffster bought the “bathroom spray” version (see photo above). Easier to apply, it requires far less scrubbing to get the job done. Much easier on my aging back!

A couple of weeks ago, with what I thought was a bottle of Vim, I sprayed the bathroom tub and tiles for their weekly cleaning. But even with vigorous scrubbing, the stuff didn’t foam up as usual. And it felt greasy. Another glance at the bottle explained everything: I’d just scrubbed our bathtub with carpet-spot remover!

Not Vim.

I immediately imagined it nibbling away at the tile grout or already-damaged tub enamel. After hosing off the carpet-spot remover, I sprayed on plenty of Vim, which foamed up and worked as usual.

Why did I grab the wrong bottle? I blame it on a recent rearrangement of our cleaning products: the carpet cleaner occupied the spot once reserved for Vim. Morning brain fog had nothing to do with it.

Mr. Fluffster laughed when I told him about it. I shouldn’t be surprised by the teasing that followed.

* Cleanser by shashank singh Noun Project (CC BY 3.0) and scrub brush by Andi Nur Abdillah from Noun Project (CC BY 3.0).

Blizzards, freezing rain, high winds, flight cancellations. Er, Merry Christmas!

Above left, hardy dianthus on our balcony defying the weather two days before we left for Toronto.
Above right, a less-hardy Ms. Fluffster waiting for a bus on our way to the airport.

“‘A significant weather event’: B.C. drivers warned to stay off roads amid dire warnings about snow, freezing rain” blared one West Coast headline the day we set out. A Toronto one warned: “Winter storm sweeps Toronto, leaving slippery roads, power outages, flight cancellations.”

We could have rescheduled. But we didn’t want Mr. Fluffster’s mum to spend Christmas alone. She’d prepared a month’s worth of meals, plus a mountain of cookies, and was eagerly awaiting our arrival. So on the morning of December 23, we headed to the airport. New boots, a wool toque, and thick mitts for me; a warm new fleece vest under his winter coat for Mr. Fluffster. We brought carry-on luggage only, fully charged devices, and plenty of snacks: we were prepared for a cancelled flight and a night at the airport.

Our flight already delayed by an hour, we gave ourselves even more time to get to the airport than originally planned. It was snowing steadily. We expected transit hiccups since the Lower Mainland is slow to clear roads. We got lucky. The bus made it across the icy bridge, and the train was running, but only to the airport.

A second delay was announced at the airport. On the hunt for check-in machines, we passed a long lineup of dejected travellers hoping to rebook their cancelled flights. After checking in, we waited for four and a half hours.

At 3:15 pm we boarded our plane. Each seat had a plastic-wrapped blanket and pillow on it. Nice touch, I thought, but do they really think we’ll be here all night? First, we waited for an available runway. An hour later, we got in line for de-icing. De-icing took half an hour. Refreshments and free earbuds were handed out. More than two hours later, the plane finally took off — by that point only four hours later than scheduled.

We touched down with surprisingly little turbulence, given the high winds over Toronto. The pilot warned that it might take “a while” for a gate to become available. Flight attendants offered beverages and granola bars, and the seatbelt sign went off. We were into the wee hours, Toronto time.

Several more hours and announcements later (No gate. Still no gate. We have a gate! But no gate staff), we were set free.

At 4 am, there’s no mass transit running from Pearson Airport, so we headed for the taxi stand past crowds of cranky or sleeping passengers. Mounds of suitcases everywhere. When we stepped outside, security told us to wait inside because of the cold (-14C, with a windchill of -27C). Back inside, we retraced our steps to the end of an interminable lineup for taxis. Yet another hour’s wait.

At 5:30 am Toronto time, 16½ hours after leaving home, we got to our hotel and fell into bed. 

Days later, Air Canada sent us each a $300 travel coupon as an apology for the delays. We can do this again next year at a discount!