Short story: Housekeeper



If cleanliness and orderliness are next to Godliness I would already be in heaven. A place for everything and everything in it's place; my place is among dusted shelves, knick-knacks lined up with military precision, coffee tables that have never been within spitting distance of coffee.

The most important thing in the world to me is the appearance of my home. Some people behave as though this is a shortcoming on my part, but I don't see a problem. It has to be elegant, at all times, even if nobody is watching. I cannot abide dirty dishes, so I cover my chinaware in paper places so they retain their cleanliness. Nobody may sit on my couch incase they crease the pillows. I sleep on a small fold-out bed next to my sumptuous king size covered in decorative pillows because I can't stand to see rumpling and creasing. I spray air freshener every fifteen minutes in every room in the house. I never read my books incase I disturb their spines from their perfect order, but if I ever have guests there is a hard bound pictorial of beatiful homes stratigically open on the coffee table, its edge exactly five centimetres from the bottom left hand corner and set using a right angle measure.

I pad around the house in clean socks, dusting in white kid gloves.

I am yet to recieve a guest.

It is too much of a violation, too invasive, too dirty.

I would rather linger in my cleanly, heavenly abode, alone.

My idea of heaven.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were orderliness, shortcoming, violation, pictorial, and elegant.

Image courtesy of Sheila Steele.