Wooly Bully

Normally when I’m cleaning for Birdie, babysitting for Annie, or round at my new cleaning gig I don’t tell EFL.

Why, you ask??

Because when EFL rings wanting me to vacuum (and yet again wanting me to ignore the one-hundred-fifty fucking plates on her wall that haven’t been dusted since the Great Depression and are a danger to any asthmatics within a nine mile radius) her immediate reply upon my telling her I am otherwise occupied is ‘Well, can’t you call them and change the date??’

She cannot grasp the concept of ‘They asked first and thus, you will have to wait until it’s your turn for Babs Magical Floormopping Tour’

Nor will she take the answer of ‘No. I am too busy to do this today’ lying down, no. She will ring. And ring. And insist. Until I make up fake doctors appointments or last minute trips to various tropical locales. ‘Yes, frightfully sorry, EFL. Amoebic dysentary test today. Then I’m off to Tortuga for a bit of scuba diving. I’ll pop round, tomorrow, ok??’

EFL also continually fails to grasp the concept of ‘Just because you hear Babs upstairs, this is not an invitation to call her to clean. She has her own bloody housework to do, thankyouverymuch’ Which is very similiar to the ‘Just because you’ve heard Babs run into the loo at 7 AM does NOT mean she isn’t going back to bed, nor is this an invitation to call her at same’ A habit which has caused me to take evasive measures. Such as filling the tea kettle for my morning cup of tea the night before; if she hears the faucet turn on the minute there is sunlight–BOOM!!–let’s call Babs.

{Quite similar to the ‘Do NOT call me the minute I turn the vacuum on. You KNOW I’m in the middle of something. And if I don’t answer the fucking phone?? It is NOT an invitation to come pounding on my door until I cave and talk to you just to get you to stop that godawful rat-a-tat-tatting on the glass of the door and to shut my dog up because the sound is driving her fucking batshit’ clause}

Pain. In. The. Fucking. Arse.

EFL wants me to straighten out her side storage room yet again. It’s a tiny expanse–not much bigger than my room–yet holds enough clothes to keep a gaggle of Bingo Grannies warm for three winters. If this weren’t bad enough the dressers, wardrobes and various furniture are arranged in such a way that one can only open the door a few inches. She is wobbly and can’t walk in there. Instead she opens the door, throws various things on the floor when she’s feeling cluttered in the rest of the house. Then bloody well rings me whn she needs something. I then toddle downstairs, hire an exploration party, and climb up the 70ft Mount Paperwork Upon Sweaters with Random Vase Perched Atop It to get into the fucking room.

I’d arranged to sort the mess out again last week. She rang, said she didn’t feel well and that we’d have to make it another day. Which I don’t understand, honestly. All she has to do is lie in bed while I trot in and out of the room and query ‘Is this still good??’ ‘This the outfit you’re looking for??’ ‘Why on gods green earth do you have three windbreakers with wolves/Native American schemes which will only make you look like a walking 5th grade history diorama??’

Oh yes, so VERY taxing for her. Lie there and look at the stuff I’m schlepping out of the room. Say yes or no. Decide where it goes. Agony!!

{I mean, yes, I realize is elderly. And I realize she pays me for all this work but, god–it is SO NOT WORTH IT sometimes. Most of the time, really}

She wants me to do it again this week. But I am booked solid, cleaning-for-other-people wise.

(And let us but for a moment pause here and allow Babs to reflect on her life. O joy!! Cleaning up other peoples loos and dealing with their nasty ass habits. ‘Nay, peasant, I shan’t clean up my own pubes!! Get out thine dustpan and scrubbing bubbles!! This is what you get for dropping out of college!!’ Me auld Da would be so proud–his eldest and only daughter saving the world from the horror cleaning out their own bloody toilets. Ahem)

Sunday night: EFL rings.

‘Babs, I want to get into that room this week’

‘I can’t really do anything this week–I’m busy straight through to Friday. I can sort something for you on Saturday, though’

‘Ok. I’ll ring you tomorrow morning and see if you can come down then’

‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Monday night: EFL rings.

‘Babs, I really REALLY want to get that room done this week. How’s tomorrow look??’

‘EFL, I already told you I’m booked straight through til Friday. It’s a very busy week for me. Everyone needs stuff done!!’

‘So?? Who doesn’t?? I’ll call you tomorrow morning to see if you can come down’

‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Tuesday night:

‘Babs I HAVE to get that room sorted tomorrow. I think the outfit I want to wear on Christmas Day is down there’

‘Ok. We can get that outfit out for you on Saturday, when I clean that room out. Since Christmas isn’t until a week from Thursday’

‘But I need it for Christmas Day!! Besides, you said you’d take me to the hairdresser on Saturday. I can’t do both. I will be too tired!!’

‘NO. Am!! busy!! I. Can’t. Do. It. Until. Saturday!!’

‘Ok. I’ll ring you tomorrow, you can be down here at 10 AM, yes??’

‘Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!’

‘Ok. See you at 10 AM then’

‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Oops–already 3 AM.

Will go and fill kettle just now.