November 6, 2009
Cleaning people are going to clean my house today.
I feel like a damn celebrity.
No one has ever cleaned my house before. And that’s just fine, because I’m a stay-at-home mom and I really don’t have a whole lot going on in my life that would keep me from making sure a poo residue doesn’t build up in the toilet. I can handle the cleaning of my house, but now that I’m a big pregnant lady whose pelvis clicks every time I move, and my sciatica flairs up every time I get up from my cozy spot on the couch, my mom felt pity for me and offered me her cleaning lady.
YES!! ((I am air-punching the sky with enthusiasm))
But there is all this stuff I have to do before they get here…
Like clean my house.
I have to clean my house before they clean my house. Does that make me normal or neurotic?
And I’ve created a list of demands.
I feel like such a bitch–like a pelvic-clicking bitch.
I think when they get here, I’m going to follow them around the house making sure they clean it to my standards.
I’ll be so bored, and antsy, I’ll have no choice but to follow them.
What the hell are you supposed to do when cleaning people are at your house?
I can’t take a nap because I want them to clean my bedroom.
I can’t go for a walk because Berlyn will be sleeping.
I’d feel like a jackass if i just sat on the couch and watched Bravo. But because I’m such a sweet jackass, I’d probably lift my legs up while they cleaned the floor under me.
What if they use Pledge on my hardwood floors? Or vacuum up my dog? What if they use the same sponge they used on the toilets on my kitchen counters? What if they go through my drawers and find where I keep all my dead turtles, or what if they steal a pair of my shoes?
How do people do this every week?
Excuse me now, I need to have a panic attack.