My father has bestowed upon me a lovely gift.
He is out of town this week, so he’s sending the girl who cleans his house to come clean mine.
Happy dance time! Can you see the smile from where you are? Can you?
I don’t have a cleaning girl of my own. On one salary it’s hard enough to pay for groceries. And gas. So when the laundry needs to be done and the floors need to be washed and the carpet needs vacuuming, I’m the girl.
I hate cleaning more than just about anyone, but I loooove having a clean house. So I keep the house relatively clean, and every now and again I get industrious and do a good, deep clean. And every once in a great while, when I have a few extra dollars from Craigslist sales or birthday money, I will hire someone to come in and clean for me. I’d much rather have someone clean my toilets for one day than enjoy a year’s worth of bath gels.
It’s been quite awhile since the last time that happened. My father had offered her services to me one other time, but I was enjoying InfectionsRUs and had to pass. It was a sad, sad time.
Tomorrow is the big day. I’m very excited. And I am suppressing my very strong urge to pre-clean for the cleaning lady. I am trying not to care that my son missed the toilet today, and that there’s a thick layer of dust on my bedroom furniture because we’ve had the windows open to enjoy the cooler weather this week.
Of course I’m going to make the bed. That’s not her job, at least to me. And I’ll finish up the laundry. I want her doing the hard, dirty stuff – I’ll take the easy stuff. I wonder if she’ll clean the grout in my tile floors…
Because she’s coming here on Thursday, too.
I’m going to let her do what she’s being paid to do. And enjoy the reprieve…
But you all know I’m going to clean up the pee tonight, right?