"No No Meggan…No No"

I live in fear of letting down one person.  It’s not my Mom.  It’s not Oprah.   Even Jesus runs a close second.  The person who strikes fear in me, who can break my heart with a down turned sideways glance,  who can communicate her approval or disapproval with one well placed “hmmm”, is my German housekeeper Barbel.

Barbel knows cleaning, and she has no time for any foolery or excuses when it comes to housekeeping.  Barbel can make a bed with corners more precise than the best trained soldier in boot camp.  What she does for showers will bring tears of gratitude to your eyes.  Dust consider it an honor to be cleaned by her and literally throw themselves into her dustcloth.

Her speciality though, her calling, her coup de grace…is floors.  I have never seen anything like it.  Perfection, and I don’t have to tell you my version of perfection and Barbel’s version are more than just a little different.   Barbel’s version of perfectly cleaned floors is to clean them to the point that it looks like no one lives here, my version of perfectly cleaned floors is to clean them to the point that it looks like homeless men don’t live here…anymore.

The funny thing though, I swear ALL I DO IS CLEAN.  I am constantly doing laundry, dishes, sweeping patios, and yes, even the floors….daily.  I just can’t ever seem to get anyting clean.  The day before Barbel comes I am a nervous wreck.  I run around barking orders (to myself), “empty the trash cans, change the sheets, do the dishes, mop the floors…STAT!”  Inevitably though Barbel surveys the land and silently extends or withdraws her approval.  Mostly she mumbles to herself as she sweeps the floor.

Barbel: “No no Meggan, no no.”

Me: “No no?  I am so sorry Barbel.  Is the floor bad?  I tried to clean it.”

Barbel: “No no Meggan.”

Me: “I’m really sorry.”

Barbel: (While deftly mopping).  “Um Meggan.  Meggan.  Meggan.  Do you have animal?”

Me: “Ummm, no, no animals.  I have boys though.”

Barbel: “GASP!  No no Meggan.  I thought animal did this to your floor.  Thank God, I am here.”

That’s usually when the German starts and I shamefully make my exit.  The above photo is from when my 15 month old animal got into the Kleenex box.

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