The White Tornado

I can still see Mr. Clean, the "White Tornado" spinning around the house through the screen on my black and white television. There was something special about that man, and of all my childhood memories, he remains. Not quite sure why, but in a heartbeat, I can drum him up in my mind, that cross-armed man with the mermaid like body, only his tail was a tornado. Maybe through osmosis, or positive ""vibs", as I really did like Mr. Clean, Peter somehow managed to inherit some of his tornadic like cleaning skills. Maybe somewhere in that intricate set of DNA, he got the White Tornado gene, because Peter has certainly learned the fine art of white tornadoing.
Take the dishwasher for instance. The cleaning that goes on there is simply mind-blowing. If there in any indication that the dishwasher needs to be run, and that indication could be a lonely cereal dish, Peter starts with the dishwasher experience. He begins with the rinsing, and rinsing, did I say rinsing which makes one wonder do these dishes really need to be washed? Once the rinsing is done, which usually comes with a reminder that "Peter, those dishes are rinsed, than those dishes located closest to the sink are loaded. However, he has only just began. For really, Peter wants to include everything and anything in sight. He moves on to those items that are placed on the counter possibly for decor or some utilitarian kind of experience. Now Peter being a fair minded soul, does not discriminate between good china and bad, new or antique, Waterford or Kmart, no, he is really an equal opportunity kind of guy. If it is on the counter, it belongs in the dishwasher. And so, in go those items, loaded next to, close to, and on top of the cleanly rinsed dishes that really do not need to be in the dishwasher. Then, when one would think the dishwasher is near, no that would be way overloaded to capacity, he makes one last sweep and collects any remaining items within the vicinity and adds them to his menagerie of dishes. As in normal Peter fashion, with his keen sense of no one is watching, he starts that machine which will run at way over the limits capacity. Rocking and rolling, clinging and clattering, a sound one could assimilate to a finger running down a chalkboard. And so, the collectibles, the crystal, the cookie jar, the dog dish, the pots, the pans, are now best friends as they are getting a bath, hoping to survive the wash as they rub, crash, and clang hoping to make it through the experience without a dent. And Peter, stands, contemplating, what needs to be cleaned next. Why, I Mr. Clean Peter have just begun. I am only in the kitchen. His legs start moving, taking on a new whitish cone shaped look and off he goes to another room. I contemplating, do I stop the work of art created by this young man, do I unload before it is too late, as I am wondering what piece of glass I will need to replace following the washing experience, I think I best grab my sneakers and follow the storm.