I clean it...it comes back. I scrub it...it comes back. I unleash onto it a payload from my chemical arsenals....it comes back. I twirl in circles while chanting Native American spells and burning incense, or is that my cooking?....it comes back.
I feel like I'm Lady MacBeth, shouting,"Out, damned spot!"
like I am trying to rid myself of Georgiana's birthmark.
See how useful my English degree turned out to be? I can think of obscure parallels about my housecleaning. I'm so glad I spent thousands upon thousands of dollars becoming edumacated.
It really takes the sting out o' my drudgery.