My apartment is small. Barely lives up to the term 'apartment'. Nonetheless, as a bachelor, I am quite able to live up to the general expectations embodied in that term, which is to say that I am able to make a general wreck of the apartment by the time the maid comes for her weekly Saturday cleaning appointment. Part of the problem is in the simple fact that I know she's coming. I will throw a tee-shirt toward the rack of shelves, for instance, it will end up on the floor, and I think Oh well, the maid will be here on Saturday. On Friday, I tend not to wash the dishes. Because the maid will be here on Saturday. (Although in my own defense I will say that I did all the housework when there were three of us in the house, to include sweeping, mopping, and washing clothes).
Nonetheless, a bachelor has no one to impress, no one other than himself to please, and no one is going to yell at him, so he grows cozy amid general disorder.
What I wanted to say from the outset, however, is how much I appreciate, therefore, the maid's spic-and-span whirlwind every Saturday, and especially the homey little touches she leaves behind, quite beyond the call of duty--little details and embellishments that would not occur to the typical bachelor, yet which he appreciates and admires upon noting their appearance.
For instance, I had a bar of soap on my bathroom sink, just sitting on the porcelain. I arrived home Saturday afternoon to find that the maid had fished a small plastic food carton out of garbage, scrubbed it clean, and fashioned it into a soap dish. I had considered buying one, and it simply never occurred to me that I could make one out of an existing item.
After washing utensils, I set them out to dry and then toss them into the drawer. The maid takes these utensils and arranges them in orderly rows within the drawer--teaspoons, tablespoons, forks, knives, like ranks of soldiers at attention, at ready to perform their function.
She notices that the strap on one of my sandals is broken, takes the sandal to the local shoe repairman, returns it whole again, and says not a word, such that when I next put it on, I am mystified half a day at how it managed to repair itself.
Books, having been abandoned on table or floor, she gathers together and stacks on the book shelf. Liquid soap containers are filled. The shirts that did make it to the shelf are neatly folded and stacked. Bottles of shampoo, lotion, deodorant, shaving foam, cologne are arranged in tight little military square formations.
From Saturday to Monday or so, I feel that the world is more in order than usual. The world, and I as well. Thank you, Nengah!
Nonetheless, a bachelor has no one to impress, no one other than himself to please, and no one is going to yell at him, so he grows cozy amid general disorder.
What I wanted to say from the outset, however, is how much I appreciate, therefore, the maid's spic-and-span whirlwind every Saturday, and especially the homey little touches she leaves behind, quite beyond the call of duty--little details and embellishments that would not occur to the typical bachelor, yet which he appreciates and admires upon noting their appearance.
For instance, I had a bar of soap on my bathroom sink, just sitting on the porcelain. I arrived home Saturday afternoon to find that the maid had fished a small plastic food carton out of garbage, scrubbed it clean, and fashioned it into a soap dish. I had considered buying one, and it simply never occurred to me that I could make one out of an existing item.
After washing utensils, I set them out to dry and then toss them into the drawer. The maid takes these utensils and arranges them in orderly rows within the drawer--teaspoons, tablespoons, forks, knives, like ranks of soldiers at attention, at ready to perform their function.
She notices that the strap on one of my sandals is broken, takes the sandal to the local shoe repairman, returns it whole again, and says not a word, such that when I next put it on, I am mystified half a day at how it managed to repair itself.
Books, having been abandoned on table or floor, she gathers together and stacks on the book shelf. Liquid soap containers are filled. The shirts that did make it to the shelf are neatly folded and stacked. Bottles of shampoo, lotion, deodorant, shaving foam, cologne are arranged in tight little military square formations.
From Saturday to Monday or so, I feel that the world is more in order than usual. The world, and I as well. Thank you, Nengah!
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