NEW CASTLE —
Oh, how I want a maid. Moreover, how I need a maid.
Why not? I deserve it. I work hard. I'm diligent with my six- and sometimes seven-day work week. I would love to come home to a clean and tidy home and kick my feet back and relax. Dreams of fresh sheets, ironed clothes, and mints on my pillow tempt me, but I am not that fortunate and must put in extra effort to maintain a reasonable level of home cleanliness.
In spite of all my efforts, I cannot keep up with cleaning up after my family. I struggle in vain to keep the house neat and clean. Sometimes it seems as though someone or something is following me around. Lurking in the shadows, waiting to destroy whatever areas of cleanliness I may have managed to chisel out.
I swear I turn my back and the room that was nearly spotless has suddenly become a war zone, littered with toys, clothing, and other debris. The wreckage is like manna falling from heaven, but rather than offering life-sustaining sustenance, it greets me with more mundane chores.
I’ve developed a theory that I have yet been able to prove. I believe that the dishes in the sink are somehow multiplying once they are in contact with one another. Maybe it is some form of asexual reproductive system that we humans have yet to discover, or possibly, they are just getting down and dirty in the sink and breeding like rabbits.
This is just a theory, but my lack of proof has not prevented the pile of dishes from flourishing in my kitchen. I feel they soon will overtake the entire living space like Godzilla crushing a bustling Asian city.
I can also apply this wild idea to laundry and my child's toys. These seemingly inanimate objects multiply at an alarming rate while I wage an unending battle against all the toys that our well-meaning relatives have bought for her.
In an interesting paradox, I have discovered that my relatives are fond of items that make noise, create a giant mess, or contain copious amounts of small parts. Thus increasing my undying need ... er, want, for a maid.
It would be a blissful existence to have the money to throw at such a problem. To be far enough in the black that I could warrant the expense of contracting another person to clean up my mess. How many extra hours do I need to work? How many more freelance jobs can I handle? At what lengths am I willing to go to cover the cost of this luxury?
Ultimately, I think paying somebody to remedy my lack of comfort would only serve to perpetuate the laziness that created the problem to begin with. What a dastardly Catch-22 we have unknowingly embraced. This conundrum will either push me to find more time and energy to take care of the disorder in my house or to channel the same time and energy on generating more income to offset the cost of a maid.
But enough about that. It’s time to sit down, veg-out, watch TV, and have a snack. I’ll get to the dishes later. Right after this show is done.
NEW CASTLE —
Oh, how I want a maid. Moreover, how I need a maid.
- Josh Drespling
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