Window Cleaning Harder than Brain Surgery

Washing windows makes doing your own income taxes look like a breeze: Brain surgery? Child's play. Building Stonehenge? Lego's harder. Landing on Mars? A walk in the park. Doing your own income taxes? A breeze. All of these piddly tasks are nothing compared to washing windows, more so, in a biblical way, on a sunny day.
Interestingly, this domestic chore from hell/hades is briefly mentioned in the Old Testament and theIliad:"And it is written, whosoever chooses to wash his own windows, and on a sunny day, is either an idiot who deserves divine reward for trying, or is a brute for punishment and has suffered enough."
The domestic window washer, if saddled with a character flaw, masochism or stupidity, will choose to tackle the job only on days when lighting conditions are angularly all wrong. That way, streaks, smudges and dead mosquitoes will be accented in a way that suggests cosmic taunting. Viewed from one angle, the pane of glass will appear to be so flawless as to seem almost nonexistent. You will marvel at your competence as a window washer.
Why is it then that your helpful spouse on the inside of the window continues to tap on the glass, mouthing the words, "You missed a spot?" Hallucination? Domestic humour? ophthalmologist problem?
But, alas, your helpful assistant on the other side turns out to be right. When you, the window washer, come inside to debate the issue, you see, with the aid of direct sunlight, that the pristine window looks like it's been coated with Vasoline and talcum powder.
Gravity is another complicator. Cleaning the inside of upstairs windows is bad enough. Unless you can elevate yourself by ladder to do the outside -- ladders and I have a hate/hate relationship -- you have to figure out the angles and contortions to do the job from the inside.
Having two elbows per arm would be helpful, but to window washing novices out there, be advised that the frustration factor is compounded on the second storey. As you lean out the open window, trying vainly to wipe as much glass as mechanically possible, that old hymn, Nearer my God to Theemay come to mind.
In your pursuit of crystal clearness, the view of the driveway pavement 25 feet below becomes a distraction. Have courage. You'll get your reward in heaven ... and perhaps a little sooner than your life insurance agent would like. There are only so many times a normal person should persist at the job of window washing.
You could find yourself making silly rules, such as, "Do not look out west-facing windows after four in the afternoon." Or, "There's nothing worth looking at to the east of the house in the morning, so draw the curtains." You'll find yourself admonishing the dog for breathing on the patio sliding glass door.
The frustrated domestic window washer, if pushed far enough by the vagaries of sunlight and glass, may even swear that the family's next home will be a tent. He will read with interest that in some parts of the Australian interior, where it's brutally sunny and hot, people have built their homes into hillsides and underground.
Domestic window washing, on the one hand, may seem like a fool's errand. On the other, you might consider putting a Protestant spin on it. Or express it as a Republican family value. If you're willing to go the distance for your family's view of the outside world, then you are a hero. Or you might gain that patina of venerability, as in, "Here is a man who has never said 'never'. "

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Pictured below: A collection of homeowner skulls (from the National Window Cleaning Museum in Mallorca) who died from the effort of trying to clean windows on a sunny day.