Cleaning Lady

I was going to blog about my Should I Hire a Cleaning Lady dilemma a couple weeks ago but was ashamed that I was going to hire a lady to clean my house.

It made me feel like a failure and lazy and like a big spoiled bitch who doesn't want to mop, which is what I am.

And I didn't want that leaking out onto the blog because what would you all think of me sitting up on my high horse with someone else cleaning my floors while I went on and on about the fabulous pedicure socks I just made for myself?

You would hate me and think mean things about me and it would tarnish this spotless image I've created in my own head of the Woman Who Can Do All Things while also maintaining a spotless house that isn't covered in animal or human hair.

Then I gave in to the dilemma and said, "Look, the house is all covered in hair and you can't do all the things you think you can AND keep the house hair-free so just call the nice Cleaning Lady and solve all your problems because I can't stand you or the hair anymore."

For a brief moment, I sighed with relief. The Cleaning Lady was going to come save me. Save me from the hairs. Save me from the evil evil mopping. Save me from throwing myself headlong into Bay Area traffic.

I was momentarily hopeful that I wouldn't suffocate myself with a Swiffer cloth during my third Swiffering of the day.

That hope has since dissolved. And do you know why? It isn't because I found peace in a bottle of Windex and the cleaning of my own house, let me assure you.

As it turns out, it is not the hiring of a Cleaning Lady that I have to be ashamed of - it's my inability to effectively hire a Cleaning Lady. Because, apparently, Cleaning Ladies lead some pretty fast-paced and irretrievably busy lives where they are unreachable 23 hours of the day despite having multiple phone lines which they never answer.

They're goddamned elusive. I call, I contend with bad connections, random hang-ups, not-so-good command of the language, bizarre schedules, answering machines with no outgoing message, voicemail systems that haven't been set up, the inability to return calls, etc. The list goes on. It's a communication nightmare.

I should have given up by now.

I should have decided that having a Cleaning Lady who can't even return a phone call would be a bad person to rely on for any services, much less those which require unsupervised house visits.

I should have come to terms with the squirty bottles under my sink and started scrubbing.

I should have been inspired by The Environmentally Sound Guide to Cleaning Your Home book that I ordered as a gift for a friend.

But no.

No, it turns out that I really want to not clean so bad that I'm still trying to find the Cleaning Lady and get on her schedule because the thought of mopping a floor or Swiffering a hair or dusting a lamp or scrubbing the shower one. more. time. makes me want to throw up and then die.

I am harboring this very unhealthy dream that if I can just get a hold of The Cleaning Lady ONE SOLID TIME I will be able to set up an arrangement that will satisfy me for all time and result in a clean house forever. And then I can resume normal sleep patterns that don't include dreams about being trapped in a soapscummy shower.

So go ahead and be ashamed of me. I don't care anymore. I've lost my will to self-protect. I am an young able-bodied woman with no children who lives in a tiny ass house and, yet still, can't manage to live life and keep the house perfectly clean without seeking unreliable outside help that will no doubt cause more problems than it will solve.

I am prepared to be judged as the indulgent non-mopper that I yearn to be.

Note: For those of you about to comment on your Wonder Womanness -No one wants to hear about how you have a hundred kids and a petting zoo in your living room while you work full time and do air traffic control for Dullus while maintaining a sparkling clean house. I'll save you the time right now by reminding you that you are lying and can stow it.


[UPDATE]

I think I bitched loud enough for The Cleaning Lady to hear me (either that or the idle threat I left on her one functioning voicemail was more sincere sounding than I thought) because she left me two messages yesterday (that's right! I have a hundred phone numbers, too!) and then called me early this morning on my cell with a lot of important things to say. Specifically that she's sorry she's been hard to get a hold of (I'm paraphrasing, it was not that succinct) and that she definitely wants to come by and work out an arrangement and can she please OH PRETTY PLEASE come by on this Sunday afternoon to just look around and then set things up.

Um, ok. I suppooooooooooooose, that will be fine. I mean, I'll probably be hobbling since I will have just finished running 13.1 miles, but that will make my DIRE NEED for cleaning seem more genuine since I obviously wouldn't be able to push a mop in my condition.

Plus, if I seem ill at ease, she might understand why I've let the herds of hairballs alone to fight for dominance in every corner of my house.

P.S. You are all very awesome for taking my side and also not reminding me of what a failure I am for not ever wanting to clean our teensy tiny house when I'd rather be watching football, knitting anything, running amok or Flah Feeshin' with Bubba.