I Give up. Fine, I’m a Yuppie

There is a maid coming to my house RIGHT NOW.

When she gets here, she will clean my bathtub and do the vacuuming and also probably curse my name for being the kind of jerk who can’t clean her own 400 square foot apartment. But I confess that I don’t care, because I hate cleaning so much it practically qualifies as a disorder. Another thing I hate? Living in squalor. This, combined with the fact that I don’t go out every single night anymore = spending that extra cash on a maid.

The only thing that makes me feel a little guilty is that I know, a hundred years ago, it would be my great-grandmother doing this job. (Irish washerwoman, etc.)

Afternoon update: I cannot find my salt. Is it possible the maid has wrought her revenge on me, by stealing my spices?

Published by Jen Hubley Luckwaldt

I'm a freelance writer and editor.

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