I love hardwood floors. Something about them makes me feel classy and old timey. Also the creaky floors make it easy for me to know where people are at all times which pleases my creepy dark side.
One downfall of hardwood, the dust and hair that accumulates overtime, not even overtime, over one frakkin day. This is just from the stairs. Gross.
I used to hate cleaning. Now its something that I do to almost relieve stress or something to do when I'm bored or need to occupy my hands. It has results you can really see. It may have something to do with the fact that around wintertime every year I hate going outside and this deep seeded desire to become a housewife emerges out of me, where I get to wear 50's inspired dresses and yellow cleaning gloves and vacuum with high heels on. The small iota of feminist that resides somewhere inside screams but I secretly love the idea. The idea of baking and knitting all day turns me on a little. Getting a part time job in a small coffee/bookshop.
Though I know if it was really like that for me, I'd hate it.