GUILT
Stare at the Craigslist listings for cleaning services for hours before calling one. Wonder if using a cleaning service is inherently classist. Dial and hang up twice. Wonder what is the matter with you that you can't keep an apartment clean by yourself. Wonder if this constitutes failure as a wife. Wonder if wondering this makes you a bad feminist. Wonder what's worse: being a bad feminist or being a classist asshole. Dial again and speak to the cleaning lady. She is polite and all business. She also has a Spanish accent. Wonder if this makes you a racist as well. Make an appointment anyway.
WORRY
Worry that the cleaning lady will be appalled at the state of your apartment. Worry that she'll demand more money. Worry that she'll run screaming out the door and tell all her friends that, in all her years of cleaning, she had never seen a toilet that disgusting. Worry that your apartment is not filthy enough and that she will accuse you of wasting her time. Resist the urge to clean before she arrives.
DENIAL
At the last minute, throw a pile of dirty laundry in the closet.
EMBARRASSMENT
"I'm sorry, I didn't think you would open that closet."
PARANOIA
Shut yourself into another room with the dog. Worry every time the cleaning ladies speak to each other that they are saying mean things about you. Worry that they are laughing at you. Worry that worrying about this makes you a racist. Worry that they hate the dog. Worry that they think the dog is a racist. Listen to the sound of doors opening and closing. The cleaning ladies know all your secrets. Vow to learn Spanish.
AWE
The cleaning ladies are gone. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Wander from room to room with your mouth open. Feel guilty that you didn't wash your feet first. Feel guilty that you ever doubted them. Email husband a series of delighted exclamation points. Cry openly at the beauty of the golden light as it gleams off the toilet seat. Vow never to use the toilet again. Admire the small, neat piles into which your personal items have been sorted. Note the presence of at least one highly embarrassing item in each pile. Remind yourself to explain next time that you don't usually leave airplane-travel-sized bottles of vodka under the bed. Wonder if they saw the soy sauce stains on the sheets. Drink bottle of airplane vodka. Cry some more.
CATASTROPHE
Much later, open the fridge to retrieve a beer. Something is strange. The beer is in alphabetical order. The cleaning ladies have organized the refrigerator. THE CLEANING LADIES HAVE ORGANIZED THE REFRIGERATOR. Scream out loud. Wonder if this is going to happen every week. Wonder why nobody warned you. Wonder how long that avocado has been in there. Wait, it was that Memorial Day cookout. Oh God, it's been there since May. It has been there since May and they saw it and they touched it. They touched your avocado of shame, and you must live with that.
ACCEPTANCE
Schedule biweekly appointments. Throw away the avocado. Drink alphabetized beer. Life is so lovely.
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11 comments:
Yea! You and your witty musings have been missed.
Abita to Zipfer! How many different beers have you got in there? It's not one of those fridges filled with beer and maybe some mustard and duck sauce packets is it? Large Louie
how true.
some years back we had a cleaner (as a gift) for 6 months. it was great, - but we found ourselves 'cleaning for the cleaner' to prove to her that we weren't pigs.
(oh, the stress the night before the cleaner was coming.....)
"Avocado of shame." *snort*
I have a wrinkled-up-nut-sack of a kiwi. Trade?
Yes to all of that. Only I'm dealing with the guilt of not being able to keep the guilt from one single person and one (relatively tidy) feline under control. I got home late last night to a sparkling home and I would literally pay twice the amount to relive this feeling. Also, I cannot for the life of me replicate how she makes the bed but sheets are crisp and she's lovely and I leave her cake and/or muffins with our bi-monthly exchanges. On another note, this is one of my favorite things that you've written which is saying something.
My roommates don't clean. I may have to show them this post to convince them that we should get a cleaning lady to alphabetize our beer.
thanks!
Hilarious...as usual. Welcome back Pink!
Holy hell I want a cleaning lady, but the shame of the sheer amount of pet hair in my home is something I'm not yet willing to deal with just yet.
Bigger shame? having someone cleaning after you and then suing you for putting her in that situations. It's your mom.
http://www.cocktailsandsequinskirts.blogspot.com
Great, now I want a housekeeper...
I know this may not come as much comfort, but you have officially just become MY mother.....or at least a version 40 years her junior.
I have seen your future....and it's actually not as bad as you think. The shame, embarrassment and panic all fade eventually. Especially when you realize that the maid more than likely drives a nicer car than you do....so that bee-atch can take the avocado of shame and shove it.
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