Mini Merry Maids

I'm not one to clean. Cleaning is for the birds and little old ladies armed with baking soda and bleach. I don't freak out about messes, am very laid back about clutter but every now and then this palace needs a little elbow grease to make it sparkle. I thought I could be all organized with charts and rewards. My kids outsmarted me on that one. I had this vision that my kids would fall in line, clean, and sing "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down" while they twirled around with their Swiffers and Comet. And then it vaporized as visions do. I decided it was time for drastic measures.

I got a maid.

Not just any maid. I searched high and low, researched qualifications. Cleaning the poopers at a truck stop makes for a highly qualified candidate, in case you're wondering. I wanted someone who was going to clean, polish all the nooks and crannies and give me a floor I could drink off of. I have high standards. If licking the floor is a sign of cleanliness, then by golly, that's the floor I will have. She showed up for her first day last week.










She was a sweet little thing. Matching uniform, well groomed. She listened intently while I told her the tasks I needed her to complete. She was on board, ready to scrub and scrape.




Then I asked her to shine the latrines. (that's fancy talk for toilet)

I can sense she's not really on board with that kind of work. Oh well, time's a wasting.

She dutifully went to work, scrubbing away.

I love a worker who whistles while she works. Happy is the worker who has a clean home, or some other embroidered pillow garbage.

What, she looks like Baloney you say? Hmm, I'll have to look into that.