I was wandering around today, as part of my ongoing mission to stomp on every square of pavement in this town, when I stopped back home to find the front door open. Music was coming from inside. I crept up the steps to find a startled-looking Hispanic woman carrying laundry through the living room. How dare she! That was my mess. I'd already been feeling guilty about it, guilty enough to half-heartedly make my bed in the morning, and that was when I thought it was just mine. Now that somebody else was going to clean it up, I felt really bad.
Because apparently, we have a cleaning lady. One who not only vacuums and tidies up, but who washes my sheets too. Didn't hear about that from the roommates. This is crazy - I'm a twenty-three year old with a maid. Who does that? Already I can feel my self-reliance diminish as I allow one essential life skill to be handled by professionals. I don't want to be one of those people who aren't good for anything but signing the checks!
Still, it is nice to have clean floors. And she flipped over the cheap reversible throw rug I got at IKEA, and it really does look better this way.
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