I’m Your Housekeeper and Yes…I Judge You

We’ve only met once and communicate entirely through Venmo and post-its. I’m continuously surprised by your lack of dignity and inability to sweep the floor, but you’re never home…so I tolerate your filth and gladly accept your handsome cash tips.

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Are we gonna address the ant situation or just keep ignoring it? I’m fine either way.

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When did you start breeding cocker spaniels?

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Note: a $20 surcharge has been added to your fee because I had to hand-wash the dishes due to all the dog hair in your dishwasher. How’d that even happen?

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I know you only recycle when you have company.

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You didn’t put a dog in the dishwasher…did you?

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I’m pretty certain someone is living in your attic.

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Stop buying plants.

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Wait, are you running a hush-hush operation out of the attic? If not, I know a guy who can check it out (you know…for ghosts…he does ants too)

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Why am I getting whiffs of ranch dressing every time I walk past your guest room? Not Hidden Valley though…the kind you get at a pizzeria where they mix the ranch powder in giant vats of water.

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You can stop with the yoga mat charade.

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Oh my god…are you cutting cocaine with ranch dressing powder in the attic? That would explain both the smell and the stomping.

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I can’t decide if that splotch on your nightstand is self-tanner or SpaghettiOs sauce. How anyone can create a stain that resists the power of a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser™ is beyond me.

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Regarding the nightstand, I’m not touching your vibrators, but someone needs to clean them.

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Those checkered Vans are hideous. Either wash em or toss em.. You don’t even skate.

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Can you please explain this obsession with Tervis and Yeti?

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Dusting between cleanings would really cut back on your seasonal allergies (I saw the Benadryl.) I bet you rub your eyes a lot, don’t you? Stop rubbing them….stop rubbing your eyes!

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Mouth Breather.

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