Or as I like to call it, “No ma’am,” “No sir” and “Fine”
I realize the title of this post is a bit hypocritical, considering I write a blog about my clients, but I post anonymously and change the names of my subjects. And I highly doubt any of my many followers know any of these people, so I’m probably safe for now. Until the time comes when I SNAP and reveal all, so follow my blog before you miss out.
That being said, many of my clients know one another. It is the nature of working on referrals. And it makes for some awkward situations.
All of my little old ladies know each other. Midge, Birdie and ‘ole Ironsides used to attend luncheons together at a local senior center. That was until Ironsides accused Midge of being a closet alcoholic and stealing her man. If by closet you mean where she stashes it, then yes. And if by man you mean the 92 year-old who can’t see, then yes. He doesn’t know what either of them looks like.
Then Birdie accused Ironsides of being too nosy, but what else is there to do when you’re 85. Now they are all not speaking to each other, but they love trying to get the gossip from me. But having taken the Cleaning Lady Confidentiality Oath, I keep their secrets from each other. Granted, it gets a little confusing trying to remember who is gossiping about who or mad at what or stealing old men. It’s like trying to take a final exam while cleaning a house. SNAAAPPP!
Luckily, my three go-to responses usually cover all the awkward bases: “No ma’am,” “No sir” and “Fine.”
Ironsides always asks me how Midge is doing. “Fine,” I say. Then she will go into how she misses their lunches and how long they have known each other and “I’m really worried about her. Just between you and me, I think she’s drinking a lot. Have you ever seen any liquor bottles there?” “No ma’am,” I say. Lying is essential to the Cleaning Lady Confidentiality Oath.
Midge asks me if Ironsides talks about her. “No ma’am.”
Birdie asks if the two are talking about each other. “No ma’am.”
My Confidentiality Oath was really put to the test with my frazzled young Artist and the Bachelor. As strange as it may seem, they used to date. I was referred by the Artist to the Bachelor when they were still a couple. Then they broke up and I got to witness the bizarre aftermath.
The artist coped by painting cartoonish pictures of him and his underdeveloped male parts. She painted several of these while laughing maniacally as I cleaned the house one day, replacing his “member” with a baby dill pickle. How do you keep that one a secret?
In between outburst, she would follow me around the house asking if he was seeing anyone? “No ma’am.”
Meanwhile, the Bachelor coped by bringing bimbettes home who would hastily gather their belongings and perform the walk of shame when I got there (perhaps pickle shame). Then the Bachelor would follow me around the house asking if the Artist asked about him. “No sir.” Needless to say I will never look at him the same again or eat baby dill pickles.
So not only is a cleaning lady responsible for your home, but your secrets as well. With great cleaning power comes great responsibility. Be sure to choose your help wisely, and make sure her nose is long.
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