In case the post title left you wondering, let’s start by saying I am a very clean person. Not obsessively compulsively so, but compulsively so, for sure. I bathe regularly, change my clothes, and try to make myself presentable. Sure, sometimes I leave the house with evidence of my lunch on my face, but that’s just the five year old in me.
So I’m sure you’ll be surprised to know that my cleanliness does not extend to our house. In fact, if cleanliness is next to godliness, I’m going straight to hell. Without J., I’d be living in a pig sty. In fact, her pristine white socks were covered in dog hair when she first came over to visit me in my home. (As an aside, because I was so distracted by her beauty, I also burned my dinner that night.) And somehow we’re still together.
Recognizing that house cleaning is not my forté, I have delegated this task to others through my adult life. Over the years, I have paid three lovely women for their services and been extremely grateful for their help. And I’m ashamed that I haven’t taken responsibility for doing the cleaning myself. You may think me lazy or spoiled, and I guess I am.
When we first moved in together many moons ago, J. reluctantly agreed to continued employment of my lovely cleaning lady. I knew I wouldn’t magically want to start cleaning once we co-habited, and believed that paying someone to clean our home would likely reduce conflict and resentment. We have been between cleaners, however, since our last lovely woman returned to school a year ago. J. assumed the cleaning because: a) I have leukemia, so I now see my chronic exhaustion as a legitimate excuse for not cleaning; and b) J. withdrew my cleaning privileges the last time I tried to wash the floor.
Thanks to my dear friend, N.–dogs are indeed the greatest connectors–who happens to be better at sharing than I am, we now have a new woman helping us out. This lovely gal came over for the first time this week, worked her tail off for four hours, and left the countertops gleaming, the surfaces dust free, and the floor spotless. Each day I am finding new places that she thought to clean. No wonder she was breathless by the time she left.
Lest I give you the wrong impression, J. was doing an excellent job of keeping our house clean. Still, she did not have the time to dedicate to the task because, in addition to her work, she was so busy caring for me and the pooch.
I fear what you may be thinking of me now. Other than attending doctors’ appointments, going to yoga, and walking my dog, what else do I have to do? I could clean a room a day and be done by the end of the week, couldn’t I? Yes, I really could, but I don’t want to. The five year old in me is coming out again, I realize. But let’s say my time on this earth is limited–though you’re likely starting to question that since I’m still here–and I don’t want to spend the time I have cleaning.
And so our new godly cleaner will be visiting us every two weeks. J. will not have to wash the floor on Saturday mornings anymore, and I won’t have to allocate so much time to feeling guilty that I’m not. I can’t think of a better way to spend my allowance, can you?