Along for the Rye’d
An Open Letter to My Cleaning Lady
By Annabel Monaghan
Pullquote: You might be happy to know that I’ve made some changes around here now that I’m in charge. Namely, there will be no more cleaning the oven.
I don’t want to bother you while you’re quarantining with your family. But just real quick, why is everything so sticky?
I remember the last time we said goodbye. It was like any other Tuesday. Your skin had that nice sheen of perspiration about it, and in my memory, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You said you’d see me next week. That was 58 days ago.
I guess I just wanted to write and tell you that I get it now. Where there used to be clean surfaces in which I would see my own image reflected, there’s now a coat of dust, dog hair, and sesame seeds in which I see the truth about who I am. I really had no idea. About any of it. Take the spray bottles, a whole bucket of them, all slightly different and ending in “–ex.” Around Week Two, I noticed that the prefix to each bottle’s name is a clue to what it’s supposed to be cleaning. You probably knew this already.
As I wipe the film of grime from one surface to another (Fantastic, I find, is well named) and haul the vacuum cleaner up and down stairs, I start to understand a few things about you. Like I understand why you occasionally miss a spot. Sometimes on those glorious Tuesdays, just after you’d left, I’d wander around the house enjoying the 45 minutes that it would stay clean, and I’d notice a smudge on a cupboard or some jelly near the sink. I’d wipe them in my long-suffering way. <Do I have to do everything around here?> Now I understand. There are just too many spots not to miss a spot. This place is covered in jelly. Oh! I answered my own question.
I now understand why you weren’t as excited as I was when I got my little long-haired constantly-shedding dog. I thought I’d surprise you. You matched my smile and made all the right sounds, but something passed behind your eyes, a fleeting look that I now recognize as terror. His hair is everywhere. My carpets are laden with it. It’s somehow in the stove. It sticks to the spots of jelly.
I understand now that all your comments and inquiries about my beautiful children were sarcastic. Sarcasm can be so subtle, and I’m usually pretty good at picking up on it, but I see that the joke was on me. I did notice an involuntary swallowing every time you mentioned one of their names. I wondered if it was hick-ups and if you’d been drinking on the job (God knows I do). But I now know that it was your gag reflex kicking in. My children are vile. Just the mention of them now makes me a little queasy. Not one of them knows how to properly use a toilet, and they collectively shed skin cells with the vigor and enthusiasm of my long-haired dog. Sorry, again, about the dog.
You might be happy to know that I’ve made some changes around here now that I’m in charge. Namely, there will be no more cleaning the oven. I YouTube’d it and thought, Is this even legal>? If I’d known that I was asking you to heat it up, spray it with chemicals, and then stick your head inside, I promise I never would have asked you to do it. I’m not a maniac.
And I’ve decided I don’t need my sheets washed every week. Whose idea was that anyway? I went three weeks without washing them and didn’t notice any problem at all. I only washed them this week because I spilled some ketchup, and after a few nights of waking up and thinking I was bleeding to death, I decided to suck it up.
Also, after the second week, I went to vacuum the living room, but I stopped right away when I realized the carpet in there is the exact same color as the dog! You can barely see the hair, so I’m just letting it pile up. It’s saved a lot of time. I’m thinking of replacing the rest of the carpet in my house with a similar color so I can just throw the vacuum out. Thoughts?
Anyway, I hope you are well. Enclosed please find your check for this week, which I used to think was a lot. We should probably talk about that too.