Confessions of a housemaid

My first confession is that I don’t seem to have any natural talent for house cleaning.  After I think I have done a wonderful job, one of my daughters will come along and say “Dad, look there”, and sure enough some corner will have a tiny accumulation of fluff and dust that has escaped my attention.  My wife has remarked, in a despairing but resigned way, that she knows I can’t help it because I have a congenital defect.  She suggests that it might be carried on the Y chromosome as it is much more prevalent in men.  This affliction means that sufferers can’t see what they don’t wish to see.  Apparently a brain defect rather than an eyesight issue.   Any inconvenient defect in a man’s work is somehow edited from the brain.  More advanced research will soon confirm what is already known to the majority of women.

I must assure guests that I have striven over the years to overcome this disability with the most diligent efforts, but have only achieved partial compensation.  As part of the management strategy to ameliorate the effects of this affliction, I dedicate my utmost efforts to the guest cottages.  This leaves more limited efforts available to the maintenance of my own home, and virtually none to the orderly upkeep of my workshop.  God wot!, I love my workshop.  A chance to let it all hang out and chaos reign.  A place to make a mega-mess and walk out without a thought.  Where the floor hasn’t been seen in decades and jumbled piles of left-over bits line the walls.  Things dangle from the ceiling that I am hard-pressed to recognise now, and shelves of off-cuts and junk are a treasure trove of odd bits for new projects.  Strangely, I can find find things amidst this rampant confusion that haven’t seen the light of day for years, but can’t find my wallet that I put down this morning.

By now dear readers, if any, you may have polarised into two camps.  Those horrified by the squalid neglect and disorder, and those strangely sympathetic to my sad condition.

I emphasize again that I devote my greatest efforts to the cottages.  I have been brought to task where my efforts have been found wanting.  Perhaps the gentlest comment was a lady who said rather kindly I think from her tone, “You’re not a corner person are you Paul”.  I had never heard the expression before, but had to admit I’m rather your ‘hit the high spots’ kind of guy.

The most thorough instructions I have received were from a ‘group’ of late middle aged people who stayed a week.  I think it was a man and his four wives attending a religious seminar and all dressed in black and white in styles from the 19th century.  I had a guest satisfaction form at the time with many questions for feedback about my performance.   At the end of their stay they sat me down and the form had been covered back and front with tiny but neat and precise writing about all my shortcomings as a housemaid.  Cleanliness was obviously next to godliness for them, and they thought it their duty to instruct me precisely how to clean around taps with an old toothbrush, and another half hour’s worth of long-forgotten tips including cobweb removal.  Actually I thought I had done pretty well with that until I realised they meant outside the cottage rather than inside.  I must make another confession here, it had never occurred to me to persecute spiders on the outside.

I continue to try and up-skill, and if you have any problem, please come and see me for a resolution and to continue my education.

 

 

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