On the scale where 1 means "cleans frequently" and 9 means "never, or under protest", I'm a 10.

I regard housecleaning as the epitome of PONARVs gone awry: Somebody's ancestor got a little too large a dose of radiation way-back-when, or a little green man came out of a flying saucer and twiddled a gene in Neanderthal man as a joke - and we wind up paying the price today every time we feel obligated to dust behind the TV set or sweep the front porch. "Out, damned spot!": the litany of the ages, the guilt trip laid on us all. I'd sooner spend eternity rolling boulders up a hill, personally.

Occasionally one reads of people lacking this mental defect: of houses not cleaned for decades, filled to the ceiling with the detritus of the years but for unstable tunnels between the refrigerator and the bathroom, the bedroom and the front door. I once had a secretary tending in this direction, and my assessment of her personal strength rocketed skyward after a visit to her apartment.

I do clean occasionally, but only under protest. Put me down as a "2" on the cleanliness scale.