She is on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, which she faithfully scrubbed once a month when she had only one child. Now that she has two, it is more like once a year. She hears a "knock knock" at the door. "That's strange," she thinks. The only person who knocks is the landlady...or the superintendent, because she lives in a 3 floor walk-up and there is a buzzer outside the first floor door.
She gets up, removes her purple, non-latex "rubber" glove and goes to the door. "Who is it?" she inqures. No answer. She undeadbolts the door that she always has locked when she is inside the apartment, even though she rarely even locks her door when she leaves home, knowing the front door will be enough to keep the bad guys away. No one there. Hmmm, also strange.
She goes back to her scrubbing, and then again, the knock on the door. She again, stops what she is doing, removes her one glove and answers the door to an empty landing, silence all around. She shakes her head, re-deadbolts the door and goes back to her scrubbing.
This time when she hears the knock she sees that it is the scrub brush, in her very own right hand, knocking against the refrigerator door as she scrubs. "Wow," she thinks....just......wow.