"Dust," I mutter softly, cautious of breathing in any floating particles. I dig my hand into the front pocket of my green apron, my fingers lightly skimming the synthetic, soft and rubbery material of latex. I pull out a pair of latex gloves and nimbly snap the porcelain white barrier over the pale, exposed skin of my hands, left hand first, then right, with a familiar twist of my fingers. The security and comfort of a shield against harmful bacteria almost releases a momentary sigh of relief.
I carefully watch the dust floating precariously over the empty cereal shelf, my eyes shifting over the expanse of the 2 mm thick layer of neglected dust packed on the surface of the shelf. "Disgusting," I hiss, reaching for the bottle and rag, "Dirty and diseased."
To anyone else, it's a job, however, to me, it's a mission. I scrub with a vigor a determined maid could only...