I love a clean house.  And I know how to clean a house.  I challenge anyone to a house cleaning competition, and I would suggest you put your money on ME! I can’t say I love to clean, but I love it clean, so somehow the two come together, anyway.

Now that we live in Mexico I have help in the house.  Help everywhere, really.  Our car is washed once or twice a week.  Our groceries get loaded into the trunk.  A whistle helps us find our way out of a parking stall.  And Guadalupe comes over twice a week at about 9 and cleans until about 1.  One day upstairs, the other day, down.

She mostly sweeps and mops and dusts.  And her personal specialty, of which she is not even aware, is making me uncomfortable.

I just get uncomfortable when she is here and I am not working.  There’s no way I can read a book or knit or look at the computer when she’s here.  I just feel so damned LAZY!  She couldn’t care less, why do I?

Paul can work on the computer or read a book or even stretch out on the couch for a nap when she’s here.  What’s wrong with me?  She is a friendly person, and we have talked about our families and what we like to cook, etc., but I have just never relaxed around her.

I know she couldn’t quite figure me out for a long time, and then we had family visit.  She has met the whole gang, and now thinks I am OK because I love my family, and she gets that.  The problem is, she gets me, but I don’t get her.

Recently one of her sons had a spell of bad luck (should I have said more?) and now she asks if she can take the classifieds with her when she goes.  Gulp.  Another son this time.   What should I say.  Do?  No idea.

I am just not relaxed when she’s here.  I find excuses to go do errands.  What the hell is wrong with me?