One word: Mortified. Yes, mortified. The core of my very being, shaken. Why?
My new housekeeper called us "dirty." A shiver down my spine.
Okay, okay, I was never so delusional as to think that my home was pristine. Nobody would ever feature it in a commercial for cleaning products, but I thought that we at least passed for average. But dirty? I feel defeated.
I have often looked around my house and cringed. Hand prints on the windows, sand spilled from tiny shoes on the carpet, a little tomato sauce crusted on the back of a booster seat, but I thought that was normal. I secretly hoped that when I walked into a friend's house and saw a spotless kitchen it was because she spent hours preparing for my visit. Certainly, she was not always this clean. And the houses I see on reality TV shows, they look perfect because they had an entire cleaning crew on site moments before.
But now...I wonder. The woman who is cleaning our home was referred to us by our new landlords, who until only a few months ago lived in this very house. I could tell upon first laying eyes on the home that the owner was a perfectionist. Everything in the home was beautiful from the paint, to the fixtures, each little detail thoughtful and well done. Our landlady also happens to be pretty, fit and blond. Her outfits pulled together effortlessly, her nails manicured. She is incredibly organized. I thought maybe it was all a front. Our housekeeper assured me that it is not. Although she speaks little English, she was able to communicate to me that our house was "very dirty!" and that the owners of the home "were clean." "No toys on the floor. No dirty kitchen. No dirty furniture."
Nope. They kept the house neat and tidy and you could probably eat off the floor. (And yes, they have kids!) These people do in fact exist, and I will never be one of them. Instead...I'm dirty.
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