jamaican me crazy

about once a year, i suffer from a severe case of PMS, which in my world stands for “pack my shit.”

why would i be pissed off enough to run away from home?

typically this happens because i (a full-time, working mother with a daily commute of two hours – on a good day) live in a stupid-big, 4,600 square foot mcmansion with two children and a husband who think that the house fairy is responsible for keeping the place clean.

my family drops food, toys, school books, clothing, dirty underpants and assorted other crappola wherever they happen to be standing, and voila! everything is mysteriously returned to it’s original place in better-than-original condition.

i realize this is my own fault. i have fostered a make-believe environment in which things magically clean themselves, fold themselves and put themselves away. so about once a year, i get to the point where i am ready to divorce my family.

but this week, something wonderful happened. *cue hallelujah chorus* i am in love.

her name is janet and she is my new jamaician housekeeper. she came this week and cleaned from 7:30am until 7pm. embarrassingly enough, that should tell you the state of my house because she didn’t even finish. but i told her to go home because, hell, i was pooped from just watching her do all that work. so i gave her an extra $20 plus a bottle of wine.

all i can say is, i hope she wasn’t so disgusted that she doesn’t come back. i need her…really bad. she is my crack and i’m completely addicted.

janet came highly recommended but not cheap. but i say, you get what you pay for. and i just paid for another year of sanity.

i think i’m going to eat out of this thing.

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