Thursday, May 12, 2016

I know people who have maid services come clean their house each week. These are, invariably, people who are not slobs.

Me? When I write, I'm consumed by it. I eat while writing. I distractedly set my dish or cup aside to continue writing, and then come midnight discover I've got four cups, two plates, and a soup bowl next to me. I kind of don't care of my scratch paper hits the trash can or not (I'm not a good three-point shooter), and I toss books in a pile on the floor rather than immediately reshelve them properly.

A long, long time ago, I knew someone who had one of these "naked houseboy" cleaning services. The service had hunky men in jockstraps come clean your home. It was like having a private strip show for an hour or two. The "houseboy" didn't mind, apparently, being stared at for three hours while he vacuumed, scrubbed the bathtub, and dusted shelves.

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