I fired my housekeeper. Well, she was more someone who came when I had extra cash to dig me out of my domestic, perpetual disarray, but still…it’s a parting just the same.
Sadly Max, my accountant, said she didn’t make the cut budget wise, so I always had to sneak her in the backdoor.
I’d sell a scarf at the resale shop then call her.
I love Consuela, but she really pissed me off asking for a raise right after she said she was praying for me to the Blessed Mother. The Money Changers may have been a better choice since I don’t think Mary knows a little about cash or cleaning, I don’t care how immaculate she is.
If I’m being belligerently blasphemous, so be it.
Consuela wears her Christianity like a badge across her apron. “I a Ca-dish-chin…Jod is my lie-fff.” Sounds impressive right?
Why is my thong in such a tangle? She knows I’m not exactly hitting homers work wise at the moment. Why would I ask her to hold a check till Thanksgiving with my Tiffany watch as collateral?
My medical bills have immersed me in such debt that add-ins, like her and her trusty Electrolux, have truly become a luxury.
I’d love to give her a raise. I’m the horn of plenty remember, the one who over-tips, overdoes and is famous for going overboard generosity wise. After knowing me for fifteen years, I just felt her timing was a half-cup poor.
So, I’m Swiffing and sweeping, scrubbing and trudging on my own and you know what?
I do not, and I repeat, do not possess the cleaning gene. Things somehow look dustier when I’m through. I find myself using an inhaler after I sponge down Lil, my ceiling fan, who I don’t ever remember being beige. I thought she was gray, with a charcoal shine. Clearly Consuela never bothered to Mr. Clean it as far as Lil’s concerned. The poor girl…and poor me…since I was covered with fifth and grime. No wonder I have allergies… and all along thought it was shellfish.
I think there may be a shrimp and a few oysters I owe apologies to.
I do love to Swiff though. It was a birthday gift given long ago, and the reason I enjoy it so is because once the cloth is the color of soot, I know I’m done for the day.
I live facing the avenue so the dirt from the windows could have it’s own reality show. I mean in one day the sills, floor and air-conditioner look as if they went down a coal mine.
I’m thinking of getting us all hard-hats on eBay.
However, I am determined to carry the torch, or mop in this case, and carry on alone.
And that novena Consuela promised as she was heading out the door without severance pay (I did offer her a pair of strappy sandals she said were too sinful looking), can just stay in the holy hopper for all I care.
If you’re a Christian, and I know this because I’m a lapsed one only taking from it what was good, you don’t kick a Thingirl, or her fan when we’re down.
This is when we are your fans no longer.
“Whirl whirl,” said Lil