The cleaner is here. I can hear her outside my room, I wonder how much longer I have before she needs to come into my room.
Last week she couldn’t come. It was a rare occasion, for she is the most reliable cleaner I’ve ever had, but strange though it may sound, it was nice not having her.
Strange isn’t it? On the one hand I am… my children would say… obsessed with everything being clean and tidy, while on the other, I don’t like the disruption to my writing routine.
But as far as my children are concerned, the issue with the cleaner is a different one. Andrew was the most vociferous about it. You see, every Tuesday, when he and his sister were home, I would remind them, they would say nag them, to tidy up their room because the cleaner was coming.
“Mummy it doesn’t make sense,” Andrew would argue, somewhere between amused and frustrated.
“What doesn’t make sense, darling?”
“Having to tidy up for the cleaner.”
“It’s not tidying up for the cleaner,” I would explain in vain. “It’s tidying up so that she can actually clean.”
Over the years, whenever I reminded them that, the cleaner is coming tomorrow, they would go:
“Oh no, not the cleaner,” and roll their eyes.
Before transferring to NYU, when Andrew was at Drexel in Philly, my son complained about how untidy his room-mate was.
“I don’t know how you can complain Andrew,” I said. “You are not exactly tidy yourself.”
I don’t how he did it, but looking at his clothes after he’d taken them off, it looked as if he’d walked out of them. The underwear would be inside the seat of his pants and his socks inside the legs.
Can someone tell me how one does that?
Anyway, he insisted that his room-mate was untidy and that he was sick of it.
“He leaves his dirty dishes in the sink.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you jump to do the washing up,” I countered, amused by the conversation.
“You don’t understand. He just leaves the dirty dishes with the left overs, until the whole place stinks and then I or one of the other suite mates ends up having to do it.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“He just doesn’t care. And he leaves his things everywhere, I have to step over his clothes to get to my bed.”
Uugghh, that’s awful, I thought.
Oh my sweet Tigger, if you came back, I would put up with your mess, for a while anyway. No really, I wouldn’t pester you. These days nothing is ever out of place in your room, and I wish it was a bloody mess instead.
Well, time to vacate my room, the cleaner is at the door.