So hard to get good help these days...
As I rummage through my blogospheric markwelt, I have noticed that there has been a recent spate of bloggage regarding housekeepers. Diligent readers will recall we have had problems with our regular housekeeper, whose ovaries fell out or her fallopain tubes shot out her nose or something along those lines (they never tell me jack...they look at my Y chromosome and murmur it's some sort of "woman trouble" and that's all the info I'm ever gonna get) and for the last month we've been limping along with a friend's borrowed housekeeper, whom I have codenamed "The Scab."
She does an okay job, so no real complaints there. The thing of it is that she likes to put things where SHE thinks they ought go, not where we want them to go. Jewelry boxes, sweaters, shoes, kitchen gadgets, all find new digs when Scab comes to town. Since we're too damned busy wondering where all the pajama bottoms have gone off to, we do't have the time to make a mess and, therefore, the house stays cleaner longer.
Regardless of whose cleaning our house, Scab, Contra* (our regular), or Miss Gulch (her semi-illustrious predecessor), my wife has always had a weird relationship with housekeepers. TFBIM did not come from a family with housekeepers, but from a background of leading a housekeeper-free existence. As a consequence, I am often confronted with disturbing behaviors such as my wife cleaning BEFORE the housekeeper gets here. In fact, one of the biggest arguments we've ever had concernedmy outright refusal to clean prior to her arrival. This would be like showing up for surgery all shaved and prepped, sucking on the gas mask. I do not care what my housekeeper thinks of my housekeeping skills or the character required to exercise them if any.
Another disturbing scenario is finding TFBIM chatting and having coffee with Contra. Setting aside the fact we're paying (including the whole alphabet soup of taxes**) Contra to enjoy our lovely espresso, she is being distracted from performing the tasks required of her appointed rounds. Perhaps this is why TFBIM wants me to scrub the tub, so she may enjoy lovely beverages with a woman paid to do so.
Of course, anything weird TFBIM does can be topped by any one of her pals. Her pal "S" liked (or was intimidated by?) her housekeeper so much that, when S realized the HK in question was aging to the extent she was actually doing a VERY poor job, she hired another one. Then, when HK1 noticed someone had polished copper something (of which she had made a mental note) S had to scramble and lie. Then another incident popped up (the windows were washed!)and S had to lie again. My wife is pals with a woman who is cheating on her housekeeper with a younger housekeeper who can do things the other one can only dream of.
Anyway. That's the deal. Back to detailing my silly little sports car, and waiting for car #2's imminent arrival.
-J.
* Her husband was arrested by the Sandinistas one night and she is still waiting. Well, not REALLY waiting, but you get the idea.
** It is immoral, to say nothing of counterproductive, to dress like a Mohawk and fling one's housekeeper into the harbor in protest. Do not try this at home.
She does an okay job, so no real complaints there. The thing of it is that she likes to put things where SHE thinks they ought go, not where we want them to go. Jewelry boxes, sweaters, shoes, kitchen gadgets, all find new digs when Scab comes to town. Since we're too damned busy wondering where all the pajama bottoms have gone off to, we do't have the time to make a mess and, therefore, the house stays cleaner longer.
Regardless of whose cleaning our house, Scab, Contra* (our regular), or Miss Gulch (her semi-illustrious predecessor), my wife has always had a weird relationship with housekeepers. TFBIM did not come from a family with housekeepers, but from a background of leading a housekeeper-free existence. As a consequence, I am often confronted with disturbing behaviors such as my wife cleaning BEFORE the housekeeper gets here. In fact, one of the biggest arguments we've ever had concernedmy outright refusal to clean prior to her arrival. This would be like showing up for surgery all shaved and prepped, sucking on the gas mask. I do not care what my housekeeper thinks of my housekeeping skills or the character required to exercise them if any.
Another disturbing scenario is finding TFBIM chatting and having coffee with Contra. Setting aside the fact we're paying (including the whole alphabet soup of taxes**) Contra to enjoy our lovely espresso, she is being distracted from performing the tasks required of her appointed rounds. Perhaps this is why TFBIM wants me to scrub the tub, so she may enjoy lovely beverages with a woman paid to do so.
Of course, anything weird TFBIM does can be topped by any one of her pals. Her pal "S" liked (or was intimidated by?) her housekeeper so much that, when S realized the HK in question was aging to the extent she was actually doing a VERY poor job, she hired another one. Then, when HK1 noticed someone had polished copper something (of which she had made a mental note) S had to scramble and lie. Then another incident popped up (the windows were washed!)and S had to lie again. My wife is pals with a woman who is cheating on her housekeeper with a younger housekeeper who can do things the other one can only dream of.
Anyway. That's the deal. Back to detailing my silly little sports car, and waiting for car #2's imminent arrival.
-J.
* Her husband was arrested by the Sandinistas one night and she is still waiting. Well, not REALLY waiting, but you get the idea.
** It is immoral, to say nothing of counterproductive, to dress like a Mohawk and fling one's housekeeper into the harbor in protest. Do not try this at home.
Comments
P.S. I could tell you the details of my most recent yeast infection, if that would make you feel better about the whole anti-y-chromosome prejudice thing. I live to serve, and all that.
And, in fact, there was one, 5 days a week in the homes I grew up in. Perhaps this is the key. One cannot pre-clean or de-clutter if the Scab is there everyday.
She did, however, drink a freakin floatilla of tea each day.
Joke, you should do a "things which you oughtn't to live without" for Diflucan. It's really great stuff that.
Lastly, while I am, in some subconcious way, aware my female pals have, by virtue of being female, a specific inventory of naughty bits...I make a very strenuous effort to not think about that.
Example: A few years back, whilst on a shopping tour, a female pal once asked me, in a very pointed way, fr my views on the fit of a very fitted blouse, and I had to avail myself of some retsina and ouzo at the lunch which followed to reset my compass properly.
Let's just leave it at that.
What the current Vegetable-to-Espresso rate of exchange?