Confessions of a Cleaning Lady

What's the point?

It occurred to me the other day upon reflecting on a conversation with a friend that most of what I blog about, both here and in my personal blog, revolves around characters. Sculptures of people I know thrown against the screen to break up and scatter. You'll see a hand here, a face there, maybe a bust or a foot; then I try to glue them back together again to show you what they really look like.

I suppose that's the goal for lots of writers, to try to give their readers someone new to meet. Besides, it's gratifying to create people without having to push them out of your vagina.

So I guess that's what I've been doing with this little foray into showing the outside (or trying to?) of this small sliver of my personal experience, introducing you to people whom you may never meet, or people you already recognize too well. Hope it's working out.

But..

It's also occurred to me that the title of this blog is "Confessions of a Cleaning Lady" which implies I've got some dirt to dish. Which I do, I just didn't want to be mean. Since the names have been changed to protect the innocent I guess I can spill it, so here goes:

I've found KY jelly, opened, surrounded by Kleenex on a nightstand by the bed. Hubs was out of town for work.

I have more than a couple of toilets that I am in awe of every. single. time I clean them. I have no idea what happens in these toilets, but someone's ass explodes there. Daily.

I've got a house where the 11ish year old girl that lives there keeps a knife under her bed. Probably pretty smart, now that I think about it.

I have a house in which lives a dog that I am positive is going to have to be euthanized because she will bite one of us. It's just a matter of time. The sad thing about this is not the dog dying, but that the human refuses to recognize the fact that her dog is a danger to people in general. The husband of the house blames the humans because the dog "is only acting that way because she can tell you're nervous around her so you make her nervous..." Needless to say they've got no plans to do anything to train this dog because it's everyone else's fault. She'll die because her humans are ignorant assholes.

I have a house in which the nanny likes to educate (she's 26 with no children and a degree in history) myself and my partner about "what babies are like". I'm forty-four next month, my friend I clean this house with is 45. I have three kids, she has two.
It's so laughable, that I have no room to be incredulous about this. It's almost as if we're in a sitcom.

I've got a house where the wife travels for work all week most weeks. Believe me when I tell you she's gorgeous with a smokin' body. Her husband is average at best. We come Fridays after she's been gone all week, and she's always hung over. We're pretty tight with her by now so she regales us with her tales of the week before which always include "entertaining clients". (She's in sales.) There's lots and lots of drinking, expensive dinners, and late night club excursions. Her clients are mainly men. She's alluded to the fact that she parties a little too much sometimes, to which I say hellz yeah, girl. Go get it. Now I don't condone cheating, but imma just assume she doesn't although I know she really most likely probably does.

I've got more, but this is more than enough rambling for now. Besides, I've got a book to try to piece together and a bottle of Prosecco to finish. But stay tuned, and I will make a concerted effort to hone this little work of art of a blog to deliver more on what its title implies.


-TPB