Roughing it

When I was very young, my mom used to cut the seeds off of my strawberries. I would refuse to even look at the strawberry until it was stripped bare, as naked as the day a baby is born. One could ask what exactly is LEFT of a strawberry once the seeds are all cut off, and why in the world my mom would indulge this irrational demand. The answer to the second question is that I was one of the stupidest kids around.

I like to tell that story because you can see how much I’ve developed. Now my demands are way simpler. I merely ask not to be housed with a serial killer, to have a limo take me to school, and to have a toilet nearby in order to be entirely content. And recently, another requirement has formed.

This morning Diana and I awoke languidly, relishing the fact that it was a Sunday and we didn’t really have to do much. We got out of bed and then, dear God, the dire straits we were in fully hit us. OUR TOWELS WERE 2 DAYS OLD. Our beds had not been made for TWO DAYS. And thanks to one of my graceful maneuvers yesterday afternoon managing to break a bottle of my very favorite nailpolish, Odor of Maroon permeated throughout all four corners of our room.

Since there was always someone in the room on Saturday, the maids had not come to tidy up after us. We were basically suffocating in our own filth.

We frantically scrambled for our things and fled the room for a while, giving the maids ample time to straighten our room.

In my exile, I thought about what I’m going to do when I get back to Chicago. No one is going to make the bed for me, no one is going to give me clean towels, clean the sink, and take the trash out. I’m going to have to return to doing my own dishes and folding my own clothes. Diana also viewed this gloomy future with a long face.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten that life isn’t actually too bad when there isn’t someone to give you extra rolls of toilet paper without asking, but in the short week I’ve been here, I’ve gotten so used to it. I don’t have to worry about having to use napkins when I shouldn’t, pretending the dish really isn’t THAT dirty, or that wrinkled clothes are the new black. The only thing I have to worry about really is doing the clothes, since there is no washing machine, but you know

The bidet works out magnificently for laundry. This picture is taken in the rinse cycle.

Do not laugh. Washing plus drying is 9 euros here. 9 EUROS. JESUS. I could get 4.5 pizzas for that!

So we started thinking. Maybe if I didn’t buy any food, I could hire a maid for that in Chicago. But chances are no. So this is an open invitation to anyone in Chicago who wants to be my maid. I wouldn’t be able to pay you with money, but I’d give you lots of hugs and high-fives.