Where are my damn measuring cups? Monday, June 11, 2007So for the last three years I've had a cleaning lady and a cook. Well, not really that I had one, rather the place I lived did. I hate every moment of it.
Sure, this may be surprising to whole hell of a lot of people since having a cleaning lady and cook seems like some sort of decadent dream but really nearly every moment of it has been pretty close to torture for me. First off, I told the cleaning ladies that they did not need to clean my room or bathroom. Why? Because I hate having people up in my business.
If I decide to leave my panties on the floor I don't want someone I'm not sleeping with to see them. Why that distinction? Because if you are sexing someone up they are already deep into your personal space. My cleaning ladies and I do not have that sort of relationship.
So you would think I wouldn't have issues with the non-personal spaces like kitchens- right? Wrong. Things get put away in odd places so that I spend 15 minutes looking for my measuring cups, and they are never put away in the same place twice. Sometimes they are in one drawer, sometimes placed in a cabinet- it's a crapshoot really. An annoying, frustrating crapshoot. I cannot tell you the number of times I've been trying to cook or bake and stood in the kitchen and screamed in frustration because I can't find something I know own.
And the cook, god love her. She is sweet and granted she isn't there for just me- but I don't do processed foods. Really, I eat them every once and while and usually end up feeling like shit afterwards. I'm all healthy like that. But for her processed foods are a way of life, which is fine. And it's fine with a lot of the people she cooks for, and since they are the ones paying the majority of the rent I don't complain.
Lastly, I'm just not comfortable with it at all. I feel some sort of guilt, shame or semi-lower middle class uncomfortableness with having someone do those domestic things that I am more than capable of doing myself.
As of next Friday, it will all be over. I won't have to make pleasant small talk in the morning while I'm trying to gulp down my fiber before running out the door. I won't have to endure any more calls at work from someone asking me a question about something so totally inane it makes me want to tear my hair out. I'm moving into my new place and from here on out if the measuring cups are not in the right place I know it's because I moved them.