I have issues . . . .

I was recently lamenting over my decision to let my hair grow out.  About eighteen months ago, I had a pixie haircut.  Cute, cool, and super-easy.  So I did what I normally do when mourning, posted something on Facebook about it, what else?  After reading my status, my husband comes sprinting back from the bedroom and makes me a deal:  if I continue to let my hair grow out, he'll hire someone to clean the house. 

I immediately replied "DEAL!", before I could help myself. 

In the back of my mind, I'm thinking I could never allow someone else to clean my house.  To say I am a picky housekeeper is an understatement.  For a period of time in my life I cleaned houses.  Even when I was working full-time and considered hiring someone to clean I always quickly dismissed it as a big waste of time:  my potential housekeeper's and mine.  Been there, done that.  There's no way I'd be satisfied.  We won't even go in to the whole nurse/germaphobe thing.  And then there's the fact that I am not currently employed and would feel really guilty about spending the money on having someone clean my house.  There's no way I could live with myself . . . . could I?  Surely my darling husband knows this about me . . . .

Nowwaitadamnminute.  Did he just make me a deal on something he knew he wouldn't have to follow through on?  He doesn't think I'll do this!  He honestly doesn't think I can.  Ha!  Well hide and watch, mister!  I'm calling that cleaning service ASAP, by God. 

So, I did it.  I called a cleaning service I have been eyeing for a while.  At this point I still wasn't sure I was going to pull the trigger.  Really I was doing it for the joy of watching John squirm.  I was gonna let him sweat this one out . . . . .

I tell Morgan that I will need her help with the baby briefly because there's someone coming over to give me an estimate on cleaning the house.  Dead silence.  She looks at me as if I have three heads and says, "Someone's coming over to give you an estimate on cleaning this house?".  I could almost hear her thinking, "Po' thang.  I feel sorry for whoever that is.".
   
Don came over yesterday to give me an estimate.  I must say, I was impressed.  Very impressed.  He came in, introduced himself and asked if I would give him a quick tour of the house.  Which I did.  He wanted to "take a look at some things".  Which he did.  He looked in my microwave . . . HE LOOKED IN MY MICROWAVE!  That gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling.  There was a glimmer of hope that maybe whoever he sent in would actually clean the microwave.   He looked in corners and thoroughly inspected shower doors and whatnot.  He then sat me down and went over everything that would be done on every visit; and the extra stuff that would get done on a rotating basis.  There it was.  One thing I cherish very deeply:  a plan ::insert "Hallelujah" chorus here::.  Blinds, baseboards, light fixtures, things that would be toothbrushed (that's right, TOOTHBRUSHED!) . . . . he left no stone unturned. 

And then, I inform him that I am a nurse, (apparently we're THE worst clients to have) and I formerly cleaned houses for a living.  He didn't bat an eye.  He didn't shake my hand and tell me to have a nice day (which has happened before), he didn't pitch me some cheesy sales line.  He jotted down some notes in his notebook and calmly said, "Try it my way for one month.  I assure you, you won't be disappointed".   He then told me that he goes behind every team he sends out and inspects their work.  And then he addressed all the issues and hesitations I had in calling anyone in the first place.  All without me saying a word.  And that's when I realized I was sort of crushin' on Don.  Not in a romantic way, but in a knight-in-shining-armor kinda way.  I think you could actually SEE hearts floating out of my eyes when I looked at him.  After all, he was speakin' my language.

Now, yes, I am overly-excited and they haven't even come in to clean yet.  But I am actually hopeful.  And yes, I am fully aware of how sad it is that I am this effin' psyched about it at all.  This is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in at least the last month . . . . . I can't believe I just typed that.  That is rather pitiful. 

Does new Tupperware count?  Honestly, if I had written a post about how ecstatic I am about my new Tupperware my husband would probably have me institutionalized.  (Even though it's the kind with the lids that snap on the bottom of the container when they're not in use.  So I don't have to cuss when I am knocked over by the mountain of plastic that comes spewing out when I open that damn cabinet.  I mean, how cool is that?  That's completely and totally normal, right?)

::Sigh::  I used to have a life, I swear.  Maybe with someone else helping out with the housework, I can work on that . . .   ;)