|Somebody call the Cake Boss. It's on.|
My birthday is this week: April 16th.
That's right. I'll be 29.
So on this monumentous occasion, let’s talk about what everyone wants to know about: My new maid.
I have a new maid. She also works for several of my friends and I have heard nothing but good things about her. They’ve told me that she is very thorough and detailed.
I’ve worked with a lot of house-helpers over the past 18 years in Kuwait. I try to get on the same page with them all and type out all the instructions (for everything I can think of) and even do diagrams. I go over it in the beginning so that we are both in agreement. It is a long list and I don’t expect anyone to accomplish it all in one day, but it is out there so when time permits it can all be done and they know what I expect, when I will pay them, and how much (including overtime).
Since last maid-lady let the dog out, I have turned to the assistance of this new lady; her name is “Sassy” and it suits her. The first day, I scared Sassy away. I met with her once and told her that I would have a list of tasks. She thought that she had to do them all the same day. Not. She sent me an SMS, “Too much work, Madame! I’m leaving, going home. Goodbye.” Oh nooooooo.... I called her and after a 30 minute talk (me begging, basically) we came to an agreement. She was very very upset that my Hoover was broken and that I didn’t have a mop (I prefer cleaning cloths over squeegys). Went on and on about that issue. I said I would buy her a mop - any kind of mop she wanted.
Me: ‘What kind of a mop?’
Sassy: “A normal mop, Madame.”
Me: ‘Stop calling me, Madame, and “normal” to you might not be the same as “normal” to me. Can you send me a picture?’
So she did (well, Spanx did after I frantically texted her asking her to.) Just what I suspected: One of those skank cotton white mops of yester-year. Yuk. I hate them. They get full of bacteria and get stinky. Ew. I can smell it now.
I went out specifically in search of the specified mop. I did find the right mop and mop replacement heads; I bought about 6, I'm not havin no stanky mops around... I was concerned about finding the “appropriate” mop: Spanx told me that she bought 2 mops before getting the right one that was Sassy-approved. I told the salesman at the store that I needed the right mop because otherwise I would get in trouble with my maid and I'm afraid of her. They got a good giggle out of it. (Not funny. It's true.)
I had to take my Hoover to get fixed (I don’t use it – howmasupposedtoknow when someone else breaks it and doesn’t tell me? Why can’t they just tell me?). I had to shove the thing into my Camaro (not easy), lug the thing to the fixer dudes - then shove it back into the Camaro and get it home. Waaaaa. I also went out to buy a B&D Dust Buster so Sassy wouldn’t have to tell me to go get one (I saw that coming.) I actually love my dust buster and I'm using it every day, so I secretly thank her.
Sassy came back over the weekend. (Late, but hey that's fine because I'm catering to her now.)
‘I put the list in the drawer so it wouldn’t frighten you, ok?’
She about 5 hours cleaning my house. She is very thorough. I was so pleased that she approved of my purchases! “Oh, that is a nice bucket. I didn’t send you a picture of the bucket. I forgot.” (Yessssssssss! Score Desert Girl! You got the right bucket! It’s on!) She didn’t like the Dust Buster so much, but the Hoover was fine and she approved the mops. I bought 4 different types of floor cleaning fluids and she never said anything about them, but was a little miffed that I didn’t have Pledge or Jif (“Power” – I don’t know what that is. I have to go back to the store).
“Very powerful, Madame.”
‘Stop calling me Madame, ok? What is that stuff? Is it like bleach?’
“OH! You have bleach, madame?” (said with glee)
Oh God, here we go. My house is going to smell like bleach trying to kill bacteria from nasty, skanky mops. Great.
I never actually left my house when she was there. I cleaned right along with her and managed to finally sort out my closets and get rid of some unwanted clothes and wire hangers.
I HATE wire hangers! They ruin your clothes. When my dad died – God rest his soul – he had nothing but wooden hangers in his closet; some of which appeared to be 40-50 years old. All his clothes were neat and tidy. I want to be like him when I grow up.
So, the adventure begins. I have nothing better to talk about on Birthday Week than the new maid and maybe some anecdotal stories about my dog. Sad and pathetic, really.