Half an aisle of rubber gloves – now called domestic gloves. How do I choose? (From Bucks Free Press)

Half an aisle of rubber gloves – now called domestic gloves. How do I choose?

4:21pm Monday 19th July 2010

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As long as the water was eventually leaving the bath, U-bend cleansing could wait. Along with the kitchen U-bend, edging the lawn, weeding and window cleaning.

But last week I dug out my rubber gloves and got down to business.

I had to unscrew the bath panel and boy is the pipe in an awkward place. Lying prostrate with my right leg further left than my left leg seemed the only way to get to it.

”Heavy duty, satin touch, extra long... As I surveyed them all I began to feel a bit queasy”

Bucket full of bleachy water, old toothbrush, a sponge and old margarine tub to catch drips and I was ready for anything.

Forgive me if you’re munching, I won’t be going into any detail. Carry on.

Once I began unscrewing the first joint, I realised my ‘light domestic’ gloves wouldn’t be enough. They were going to tear. I don’t even get my hands wet with clean dishwater water without gloves on; any other watery substance and I want something better.

Down to Tesco. Once in the household cleaning aisle I was agog. The array of colours and thicknesses and lengths was beyond my comprehension.

Heavy duty, satin touch, extra long... As I surveyed them all I began to feel a bit queasy. A thought hit me.

Are rubber gloves used for other activities I wouldn’t participate in? Was standing there looking blankly at them all making me look suspicious? Weird? Kinky?

”Anyway, the pipes are clear, though it did cause a leak which meant water dripped on to the kitchen floor”

Wellington boots have been fashionable (the right kind, you understand) for some time. I don’t think there’s anything funny about that. It’s just a ‘Country Living’ look. But is there a void in my worldly knowledge? Why so many rubber gloves?

And then they’re all hanging there in their sealed bags, I begin to feel conspicuous and shift my gaze to the bathroom cleaners. But the gloves seemed to lurk ominously behind me. Dangling from their pegs, sickeningly.

In the end I bought an extra long pair of Spontex. Marigold didn’t have the same innocent ring to them any more.

Anyway, the pipes are clear, though it did cause a leak which meant water dripped on to the kitchen floor. My dread at telling my husband loomed. I rang him.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll have a look when I get back.” Phew.

“I’ve got rubber gloves if you like...”