Monday is 'housework' day; the day "The Maid" materialises out of the mist of dust particles to restore cleanliness and good order. She is well schooled in all the tools and techniques of her trade. She has no shortage of buckets, brooms, rags, and mops to go with her well-chosen array of solvents and solutions, sprays and polishes. Most are 'Green' at least according to the label but a few are not so environmentally friendly - because sometimes a blowtorch just isn't practical!
Come close of business, the Monday Maid surveys her domain with great satisfaction as she steps forward to claim "The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval" for yet another job well done.
Yeah. Right! That's the demo version. The one I get, the Monday Maid that materialises out of my bones and brain, though thorough, boasts one significant flaw. Regularity. And not the kind remedied by bran. This charlady cannot be trusted to show up on a regular basis. Every Monday? Dream on! One Monday a month? Hmmm, not likely. One day, any day, once a month? Perhaps. How about a half day every four to six weeks? Or worse?!
Is it any wonder I have so few (none) of those Good Housekeeping awards? Sometimes she does indeed arrive as agreed then spends the day drinking coffee and scrolling through travel pages on the Internet. Can you believe it? When she does actually set to work, she does so with a great clattering of buckets, brooms, and mops accompanied by a few expletives as she searches for potions not put back where they belong. If she were a smoker, there would be fag dangling from the corner of her mouth.
So imagine my surprise when this past Friday morning, the grumbling woman thumped into my kitchen, ordered a mug of coffee, then set to work. The dust bunnies gasped in horror, the fur balls scattered, the crumbs crumbled and the big drips that slid down the sides of oven and cabinet hung on for dear life. The sugary bits burned onto the stovetop laughed, sure of their tenacity to outwit all the maid's solutions, but the giggles died the instant a razor blade scraper flashed in the sunshine. She brandished her weapon high, then one quick scrape here, another two or three there and not a trace was left, save for the maid's triumphant chortle.
Then the chairs were wiped down and moved out; the lights turned up high for a full assault on the floor. There was nowhere to hide from this maid on a mission. The broom handled the first sweep, then the tractor beam of the vacuum sucked up the runaways. A thorough mopping up completed the operation. And then she was gone. As quickly as she had appeared, the Maid vanished into thin air, leaving behind a pile of dirty rags and a pristine kitchen.
Mission accomplished. And it was a fine mission, well executed and successful, but only in the kitchen. Wonder when she'll be back to do the rest of the house? I'm thinking it won't be today or any day this week for that matter. Next week? I'd best not hold my breath.
The only news here is that the Monday Maid is likely to remain under-employed.
©2017 April Hoeller