When I’m (Not) Cleaning Windows
I have, I fear, yet again been exposed as a disgrace to housewifery. The fact that I am neither anyone’s wife nor resident in my house for any lengths of time appears not to be the point. The heavy hand of Housewife’s Law fell upon me at the weekend when my next-door neighbour approached me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a couple of weeks now” she said. Doesn’t your heart sink on hearing words such as these? They take you back to schooldays and the knowledge that some terrible punishment awaits for whichever one of your misdemeanours you have been found out this time.
“Morning” I said, affecting a weak smile and hoping that my apparent friendliness would diminish whatever cruel punishment awaited. “I’ve noticed that your windows are needing a bit of a clean” she stated. Now she does have a point. I have struggled to find a window cleaner for the last couple of months and my windows have become progressively darker to the point where they would soon have made effective WWII Blackout Curtains and if they were a van, someone would have written “plez cleen me” on them by now. I would imagine that introducing these darker tones to my windows was, in her estimation, lowering the tone of the neighbourhood somewhat. (She wants to live between a brothel and a drug den, but that’s an entirely different post.)
“Now I’m sure that you’re like me and you like clean windows,” she continued. On the evidence of my blackening windows I couldn’t think what could possibly have drawn her to that conclusion, but I felt that the only right and proper response was a resounding “Yes of course”. “Good” she said. “So I’ve organised for my window cleaner to clean your windows as well.” This was, you understand a statement of intent, which I could no less back out of than desist from breathing.
I thanked her profusely for her kindness and was about to hurry off when she hit me with her final thought. “And your parents have made such a good job of your garden”. Now that’s taking the cruelty too far because the person who has been slaving for hours at a time over a hot lawnmower, attempting to dodge death inducing blades, getting all manner of nastiness under her fingernails, and thereby not having the time to find a window cleaner has in fact been me. Thanks for that Mrs X..
“Morning” I said, affecting a weak smile and hoping that my apparent friendliness would diminish whatever cruel punishment awaited. “I’ve noticed that your windows are needing a bit of a clean” she stated. Now she does have a point. I have struggled to find a window cleaner for the last couple of months and my windows have become progressively darker to the point where they would soon have made effective WWII Blackout Curtains and if they were a van, someone would have written “plez cleen me” on them by now. I would imagine that introducing these darker tones to my windows was, in her estimation, lowering the tone of the neighbourhood somewhat. (She wants to live between a brothel and a drug den, but that’s an entirely different post.)
“Now I’m sure that you’re like me and you like clean windows,” she continued. On the evidence of my blackening windows I couldn’t think what could possibly have drawn her to that conclusion, but I felt that the only right and proper response was a resounding “Yes of course”. “Good” she said. “So I’ve organised for my window cleaner to clean your windows as well.” This was, you understand a statement of intent, which I could no less back out of than desist from breathing.
I thanked her profusely for her kindness and was about to hurry off when she hit me with her final thought. “And your parents have made such a good job of your garden”. Now that’s taking the cruelty too far because the person who has been slaving for hours at a time over a hot lawnmower, attempting to dodge death inducing blades, getting all manner of nastiness under her fingernails, and thereby not having the time to find a window cleaner has in fact been me. Thanks for that Mrs X..
