Simon, there is a panda in the kitchen

I’m working from home today and I’ve realized it is the day my cleaner comes. I have made it a policy that I never meet this women. I actually like to think she doesn’t exist, and it’s actually just us being so neat that every Friday the house is sparkling like a hotel room. Maybe speaking about her cements the fact we are messy, maybe meeting her will mean I have to face this head on and I don’t want to. I want to keep living the fantasy, I want to.

So I just found myself racing around the house in uber panic mode, doing the washing up, spraying the nasty shower product on the grime, sweeping the floor and folded up a weeks worth of washing. All because now I have to face her I don’t want her to see me, and the mess at the same time. The shame of it all. I actually remember my Mother doing this before her cleaner came and I thought she was a nut job. It’s a tough call when you realize you are becoming your mother, but that’s a whole different subject.

Now there is a whole new layer of even more panic, the illusive cleaning lady is going to know I just did all this because she was coming, I’m not usually this neat, its all just a farce and she will see straight through me. That’s it, I’m out of here, I’m taking my computer down to the café where its safe and I’ll return and complement myself on how organized I can be when I really put my mind to it.

And hell, being messy is fun.