Ah… Friday. The luxury of no school. I celebrated by sleeping in. An internet addiction can take it’s toll you know, and I needed sleep. Annie tried to wake me with a pounce and a lick, but I rebuffed her like an old pro. At 10am the doorbell rang; it was the termite man. I greeted him in my pink pajamas, with messy hair and make-up smudged eyes. John had warned me that they’d want to poke around the outside of the house. No problem, I thought, I’ll hardly know they’re there. But he was wrong - they wanted to come inside the house. Uh, okay, I said, and let them pass. Then the flurry began.
Quick, grab all the dishes, I told myself, and pile them into the sink. Race past them and scoop up the dirty clothes from the floor. At that moment, with my arms overflowing with clothes I nearly said, “We’re not really slobs.” But then I realized how ridiculous that would sound with books scattered across the living room floor, mail piled on the kitchen counter and a mound of socks waiting to be folded on the dining room table. Take that image and add a layer of cat hair and the remnants of a tissue that went through the dryer floating over the floor. Now you’ve almost got the picture. There’s also the overflowing trash can and recycle bin, the partially sorted laundry on the kitchen floor and the bucket full of vegetable scraps and used coffee grinds outside the kitchen door that hasn’t magically made it’s way to the compost. It felt hopeless, but my embarrassment compelled me to try to clean.
By the time they left, an hour later, I’d managed to get the house into some semblance of decency. It was tidy, but not yet clean. It still needed a good vacuuming, mopping, and dusting. But instead, I crawled back in bed for a well earned nap.
Why not get a maid, you ask.
My mind does a funny thing when it comes to disposable income, it automatically calculates the shoe exchange rate. It goes like this: I could pay $70 dollars a week for a maid, or buy a nice pair of shoes each week (or a fabulous pair every other week.) For now I just can’t bear to throw away that shoe purchasing power, when there’s always loud music and wine to help me get through a couple of hours of cleaning. And my feet have been amply rewarded. You name the outfit, and I've got the perfect pair of shoes to match.