Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sweets for my Sweets, Cleaning for my Cleaner
I’ve become a bit of an urban legend in my circle. Not in a good way. Like in the same way the dude in Rosebank who wears shredded garbage bags has. I’m the girl who cleans for her cleaner.
Every Tuesday night I do a massive clean-up, lest poor Theodora is confronted with the horrific sight of a dust-bunny. This is not a classic case of Suburban Guilt, nor is it a mutant form of OCD that requires I perform rituals only on Tuesdays. But if I am truly, deeply honest about why I do this its because I’m afraid she’ll judge me. But worse than that, I want to be number 1 in her eyes, in the same way that I brush, rinse, floss, tongue scrape and gargle (multiple times) before going to the Dentist so that he thinks of me as his model patient. I also insist on doing a conditioning treatment before going to the Hairdresser.
People pleasing is exhausting. It’s a sickness. I’m ill.
I’d really love to write more but I have to go do my nails. I have a mani in the morning…