The Problems of the Bourgeoisie.
Oct. 1st, 2020 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnny9fingersFor all of lockdown my cleaning lady has been absent, understandably. As an aside I share a cleaning lady with my mother. The last four or five have been Eritrean lasses displaced by various political upheavals and civil wars in their own country. The last lass before this one showed The MotherTM how to strip, clean, and reassemble a Kalashnikov, much to her amusement.
The MotherTM happens to come from an Irish Republican family. I have a suspicion that they all know how to strip, clean, and reassemble an AK47.
But yesterday, Alga, for that is my cleaning lady's forename, descended upon my kitchen, bathroom, et al like Byron's Assyrian - she came down like a wolf on the fold and left the place spotless. I wanted to send her away with a bonus bottle of champagne or something alongside her wage. Alas, she didn't accept.
When you get to almost 60, the comfort of staff is perhaps the single greatest luxury available to human beings. Me, I heap mine with whatever gold I can muster; they are more valuable to me than rubies; and I acknowledge that. I refuse to limit my cleaning lady's payments to the statutory minimum wage - to me she is worth more than double that. And it assuages my conscience for not cleaning my own mess.
I came to the conclusion that in the three or four hours she works for me she saves me six to eight hours of time; which I can then waste in leisure or be productive, as I wish.
I actually feel I should be paying her what I earn per hour, but at the moment I'm not earning, so that's a no-no.
The MotherTM happens to come from an Irish Republican family. I have a suspicion that they all know how to strip, clean, and reassemble an AK47.
But yesterday, Alga, for that is my cleaning lady's forename, descended upon my kitchen, bathroom, et al like Byron's Assyrian - she came down like a wolf on the fold and left the place spotless. I wanted to send her away with a bonus bottle of champagne or something alongside her wage. Alas, she didn't accept.
When you get to almost 60, the comfort of staff is perhaps the single greatest luxury available to human beings. Me, I heap mine with whatever gold I can muster; they are more valuable to me than rubies; and I acknowledge that. I refuse to limit my cleaning lady's payments to the statutory minimum wage - to me she is worth more than double that. And it assuages my conscience for not cleaning my own mess.
I came to the conclusion that in the three or four hours she works for me she saves me six to eight hours of time; which I can then waste in leisure or be productive, as I wish.
I actually feel I should be paying her what I earn per hour, but at the moment I'm not earning, so that's a no-no.
