Cleanliness is next to…

I’ve been giving quite a bit of thought to hiring a cleaning lady. Or man. Really doesn’t matter.

But it does seem like the lazy person’s way out to HIRE someone to clean 742 square feet. Seriously. Next thing you know, I’ll be paying someone to pick my nose. 

Several of my cowokers and clients swear by their cleaning ladies — who even do their laundry. (But I suppose they actually have a washer/dryer in their living space. Um, yeah…I was supposed to do that last spring, wasn’t I?)

Assuming I can track someone down this week, I am indeed going to fork over the dough (and my pride) to a bright shining lady donning rubber gloves.

What’s precipitating this, you ask?

I decided to take my sofa cushion covers to the cleaners. So I figure my place better be spotless (and hairless) by the time they arrive back in my hands on Wednesday.

And why did I take my cushion covers to the cleaners, you ask? Well, it turns out that every guy I date is allergic to cats. So it makes things a bit difficult when you want to invite them over for dinner. They sneeze in the soup. And puff up like my fuzzy cat.




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