This morning, my nerves tingled with excitement, and my mind filled with glee.? Glorious, wonderful, earth-shattering glee.
Oh, you don’t have to blush.? There’s ? nothing kinky going on around here.? Not unless hound dogs wearing undies give you a thrill.? No, I think my husband and I would both agree–the event that occurred today was better than the kinky stuff.? Heck, it may be even better than chocolate.? See, today was the day our? cleaning lady? came to detoxify our home.
It may not sound exciting to you, but to us?? Trust me.? It’s monumental.? I mean, you’ve seen the photos of our house.?
Oh, I know what you’re thinking—a bulldozer would be a more appropriate cleaning tool than a house-cleaner, but hey—beggars can’t be choosers.? And while we? really need an industrial strength cleaning about five times a day (at a bare minimum), that’s just a bit out of our budget.? So it’s pretty? world-shattering stuff around here when? our cleaning lady? does arrive, to save us from the monster mounds of dog hair and the assorted piles of baby gunk that threaten to consume us whole.?
Once upon a time, our cleaning lady came one time a month, but we’ve recently switched to? this every other month schedule.? The intention was that I would pick up the slack and save money.? Well, I can vouch that the money’s being saved.? As for the cleaning?? Well, one out of two ain’t bad.
So, given the fact that we really, really NEED this cleaning, you’d think we’d have the house picked up in plenty of time for our cleaning lady to do her job, right?? Yeah, maybe in a Utopian society in Never-Neverland (not to be confused with Michael Jackson’s Neverland, although I suppose there are kids involved in both of these scenarios).? In the very pedestrian microcosm of our home?? It never happens.?
What does happen?? Typically, I’m running around the night before (okay, so it’s more like the morning of) the scheduled cleaning, frantically trying? to? pick up? piles of laundry, and clear off counters (amazingly enough, cleaning ladies can’t clean counters when there’s no visible counter space to clean), and fling the million and a half homeless toys into some semblance of order.? Usually, I do the entire house by myself, and the closer it gets to our house-cleaner’s arrival, the more agitated I become.? And invariably, I get grumpy with my husband.? Why?? Because, one can only make so many trips up and down the stairs? carting? moldy hubby socks, undies, and various other discards that should have been enjoying a long life at the city dump eons ago, without getting bitter.
This time, in the hopes of avoiding the whole grumpy phase, I assigned hubby one small room to pick up.? The loft.? It’s his area, so I figured it made sense if he picked it up.? Silly me.
In case anyone needs to know, this is my hubby’s idea of a tidy house:
Exhibit A:? Does this look tidy to you? (and yes, that is a gi-normous Warhol-esque painting of hound dogs on our wall)
Exhibit B:? dirty husband undies and other assorted nasties
Exhibit C:? more dirty husband undies, accompanied by dirty pants, a doodle paper (undoubtedly filled with “psychopharmacology”, hubby’s favorite word), and an ancient coffee lid
Exhibit D:? Hubby’s table o’ crap
Exhibit E:? Hubby busted with a new Wii game, which was strictly prohibited
Exhibit E:? Apparently, this is where hubby thinks we store extra blankies
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