Regular readers will remember my post earlier this month (click HERE to read) where I put forth my personal stimulus package proposal so I could hire maid service to take care of my dusty house. Well, one day this week I brought in the mail and tossed it on the counter in the kitchen without looking at it and went and did something important. Not sure what – perhaps a nap, deep contemplation about needing to dust, or trying to decide if I want to join Tweeter or just stay a twit. I know it must have been important. Later that afternoon I went to the kitchen to start dinner, or get a cookie, don’t remember which, and there on the back of one of the letters was stamped “IMPORTANT: Economic Recovery Payment Information.” I almost passed out from excitement as visions of happy maids dusted in my head.
Finally after two limps around the kitchen, I had to sit down, catch my breath, look up the happy maids’ phone number in the yellow pages, and finish reading the details of the letter. The first sentence in the first paragraph said, “Good news!” They got that right! I was smiling ear to ear – even while huffing and puffing. But wait…what’s this? What did that say? I had to read it twice to be sure.
The maids in my head stopped dancing and dusting and sat down and started smoking cigarettes. At least I think they were smoking because I thought I saw smoke coming out my ears.
I went over to the coffee table in the TV room and started doing the math in the dust. I finally decided I could have the maids in one time in May, one time in July, skip cleaning the guest room where only my granddaughter Holly occasionally sleeps, and still be able to tithe $25. Not the weekly service I was looking for, and maybe only two maids instead of three will show up, but still better than the dusting I am doing now every three…or four…or five…months. Maybe in August or September I will start chemotherapy again and I can play that card as a reason for not dusting. That should last six to eight months, at least.
Side note: I had my granddaughter, Holly, over for the day two weeks ago on Spring break. I bribed her. She dusted the three main rooms and then I took her to the movies that afternoon. We saw "Hanna Montana: The Movie." Please don’t tell anyone. We were walking out and she said to me, “See, Papa, I told you that you wouldn’t be bored. That was great, wasn’t it?” The usher standing at the door thought it was very funny. The next day I dusted our bedroom and most of the places she missed. Cheryl pointed out the places we both missed. Holly and I missed the coffee table in the TV room. And several other places. Holly will be dusting the guest room in May and July. I’ll keep the door closed.
I haven’t lost total hope yet. Perhaps when I get back from my monthly blood test Monday there will be an important letter from the White House in my mailbox. I can picture myself bending and tearing the perforated sides and a check for $75,000 will flutter into my hands. I sure hope so. So does Ellen. So do the poor happy maids and their little starving children.