Cleaning Lady

Me with Aunt Jemima do rag

I used to have a clean house. Even with a dog and two cats in the house it was so clean you could almost eat off the floor. I wouldn't have recommended doing that though, remember, two cats and a dog. When I met Mark I still had a cleaning lady. His name was Paul, and although he occasionally knocked things over, he got the place very clean. Lots of bleach, soap, and scrubbing. Paul continued to clean our house for a while after Mark moved in, but he apparently could only take so much of the clutter and mess that Mark brought with him, so he quit. I did plead with Paul to reconsider when he stopped cleaning our house, but to no avail. After Paul I went through three replacement cleaning ladies. None of them worked out. Drunk, drunk, and failure to show up were the reasons. It was now up to me and Mark to keep our home clean. Many years later and even that arrangement has fallen apart. Cleaning the house is now my responsibility, and mine alone. Don't judge Mark too harshly, he has a severe breathing problem and couldn't clean his way out of a paper bag. Yesterday I looked around our house and realized it needed some sprucing up. So I pulled out the Endust, a few rags, a dust mop, and the vacuum cleaner. It is amazing how much filth can build up in just a couple of weeks. Under my big fluffy chair I found Mark's Saveur Magazine, where Bette had stuffed it after shredding it. Around the perimeter of the living room on my newly laid floor, I found enough dog hair to weave a large sweater. I found two dollars and sixteen cents in change stuck in the cushion of the big fluffy chair, and another fifty cents in the sofa cushion where Mark sits. Obviously Mark is a cheapskate. But the most amazing thing I found... well not amazing so much as disgusting, was the dog turd under a table in the living room. It was not fresh, but dried out and more like a little Tootsie Roll. Same color, same shape.