According to legend, there is a day each week designated as 'housework' day; the day The Maid in me comes out to restore cleanliness and good order; the day that, at its close, allows me to rightfully lay claim to a "Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval." High fives all around!
This maid 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! There is just one thing this poster maid from the 1950's lacks, one flaw in an otherwise perfect performance. Regularity. And not the kind remedied by bran. In point of fact, the woman cannot be trusted to show up on a regular basis and do her job!
Once a week? Dream on! One day, any day, once a month? Perhaps. Is it any wonder I have so few of those Good Housekeeping awards?
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| Carol Burnett - The Charwoman |
Sometimes she does indeed arrive as agreed then spends the day drinking coffee and leafing through travel magazines. Can you believe it?
The only warning of her arrival is the 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 Tuesday morning, the grumbling woman thumped into my kitchen, poured herself a mug of coffee, then set to work.
The dust bunnies gasped in horror, the furballs scattered, the crumbs crumbled and the big drips hung on for dear life. The sugary bits burned into the stove top 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 light. She brandished her weapon high, then one quick scrape here, another two or three slashes 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, at least as far as 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. In the meantime, already I notice that baby dust bunnies have emerged from god knows where and furry bits are beginning to gather in groups again. A few crumbs have even eased their way back onto the counters, but the stove top is still shiny (we bbq'd yesterday).
And I got my award!
©2018 April Hoeller
ROFLOL!!! I dust when the sun shows me how much it's needed. I vacuum when the dogs have made the living room carpet too messy. I mop when...well, when the mood strikes me. I love being retired! LOL!
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