|MY MESSY BEDROOM |
(Ahem. My messy bedroom AFTER I tidied it up a bit for this photo. I am totally the kind of woman who would clean her house before the maid came so she won't think I'm a slob ...)
A mind-boggling number of years ago when I was about 19, my grandmother took one look at the unsavoury specimens I was dating and remarked, "Mimi, make sure you marry a rich man. Your life will be so much easier."
"I could never do that!" I cried. "I'm going to marry for love!"
"Then make sure you fall in love with a rich man," she said.
That was good advice, so naturally, as I do with all good advice, I ignored it. But I think about it often. Particularly when I come home from work, take a look around my home (it's more of habitat, really) and mutter, "Damn, why didn't I marry one of those weird rich guys who liked me back in university? Because I would have a maid now and this house would be clean and inviting instead of messy and accusatory. And also a hell of a lot bigger."
See, the thing is (this is the part where I launch into the thousand-and-one-excuses, which is really just one excuse...LAZY...rolled up in a bunch of other decoy excuses) I work full-time. Like, FULL full-time. I put in long days, I work overtime, I have sleep issues, I am allergic to dust, I have this debilating RSI that inflicts my sweeping arm with rigor mortis should I so much as look at a broom. No, really. You have no idea.
The only time my house looks even close to tidy is when company's coming. Hours before their arrival, I launch a mad round of cleaning that involves everything from string mops to crop dusting. I should do this more often, I think giddily, right before I do an exhausted face plant on my sparkling floors.
This is the kind of futile quest that could drive a woman to madness. However, I do have one powerful weapon in my sanity arsenal and that is my very wise, very sensible mother. (I keep waiting for signs that I take after her. So far, I'm seeing this: we both have dark hair.) Recently I whined to my mom about my messy house and this is what she said:
"So hire a housecleaner."
Wait, what? That sounds like common sense, or as I like to call it, a foreign language.
"But," I protest, "that's for ... "
"For busy people who work long hours," mom said.
"Which I am!" I said. "And I do! You know what, mom? I'm going to hire a housecleaner! I know a good idea when I hear one."
"Congratulations," mom said. "You now take after me in two ways."
Editor's note: This seems like a good time to tell everyone that you went to university with Mike Lazaridis (BlackBerry billionaire) and Calvin Ayre (Bodog online gambling billionaire) and married neither of them. Just think of the big tidy house you could have had if...
My note: This seems like a good time to tell everyone that I am looking for a new editor.