Though I can’t claim I’ve mastered Acceptance I have at least come to a point of grim Realism. The first few days PR (Post Rowena) were dark days indeed. It is hard to remember exactly what happened as the details are still a bit fuzzy. All I know is one dark drizzly morning I came to, sporting a trench coat and dark glasses, holding a bunny over a boiling pot in someone else's kitchen screaming, “I will not be IGNORED Rowena…!!!!” That was my rock bottom day. I decided right then and there I needed to get help.
So Help I sat out to get. Sadly, as any spurned lover employer knows it is hard to replace perfection. The first interview I had was with a very polite, nicely dressed, well-spoken woman…REEKING of cheap perfume and wearing the REDDEST lipstick ever made. Obviously a slut and a thief.
The next woman came bearing gifts, a book for Middle and a little car for Youngest. As IF she thought buying our affection would work! Well… actually it did work, but only because my children are easily bought and have low moral standards. They immediately pronounce her the best, Youngest going so far as to say she is superior even to Rowena! What they don’t see are her beady little eyes, staring at them with a sinister gleam as if to say, “I know to the dollar how much a nubile young boy fetches on the black market.” I don’t think so!
Simone was a darling Brazilian. She had amazing references from former employers stating the only thing better than her cleaning was her cooking, unless, of course, it was the gentle kind care she gave their children. She also had long tanned legs, a sexy accent and a butt smaller than mine...Next!
I continue on like this, never finding the right synergy of personality, cleaning standards and butt size. Collapsing one evening, on the playroom sofa, after a day of heavy interviewing, I ask Beloved (with an exhausted sigh) to please pour me a glass of wine and would he mind kicking away that basket of dirty clothes blocking the television screen. Beloved seems to have something on his mind, so, ever the giver, I ask what is bothering him. Or rather, I ask, “shwhuut ish bwuffering oo?” as my mouth is stuffed full of left-over frozen chicken nuggets that I threw downstairs for the children earlier that evening. He seems reticent, so I give him an encouraging smile whilst wiping the panko crumbs from my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Actually, the Rowena situation is what I wanted to talk to you about” he says in a rather no-nonsense tone, considering the delicate subject matter. “Ye-e-e-s?” I respond warily. “Well,” he says slowly, as if talking to someone with a slightly less than par intelligence. “Since the children are all in school…” I continue staring at him blankly. “And…you don’t have a job…yes, yes, I know you’re writing your Romance Novel (as he sees me indignantly spit a nugget out at this) but you probably spend…what an hour or two a day on that?” I nod enthusiastically thinking how wildly he is overstating things. “So…” he keeps staring at me as if expecting an answer. “I was just thinking…maybe…you could clean the house.” We stare at each other for quite a while, neither of us saying a word. “Ah” I finally say in a brisk manner. “What you’re proposing, then, is I clean the house.” “Precisely” he responds. He gets up as if glad we got that settled.
“Yes dear. I think that is an excellent idea.” I pronounce. “Glad to hear we agree” he says over his shoulder as he starts to go upstairs. “Oh yes, absolutely! Me clean the house. Marvelous idea. Why, as soon as I finish herding the sheep so I can spin wool for the children's clothing, I will absolutely clean the house.” I see him sigh heavily as he slowly turns back around. “I know! Maybe you should splurge and buy a potters wheel, so I can make all our own vessels!” I shrill, warming to my theme. “And really! Why waste money on gas and car maintenance! Why don’t you just procure a rickshaw, so I can use that to cart the boys and their friends all over creation!” I throw myself face down on the sofa and sob uncontrollably. Beloved, not an unkind man, comes to me saying, “All right, all right. There’s no need to cry! It was just a suggestion! ” and starts to rub my back. I arrange myself comfortably and think if he would just scoot over a tiny bit I could see the end of The Real Housewives of Orange County. Now those ladies are seriously spoiled. Personally, I don’t think it’s becoming, but that’s just me…
