• 28 Oct 2008, 9:20 pm /  classic topo

    So, if you are my parent or relative, you should probably turn away and close your eyes now and not read the rest of this post.

    Another reason not to read the rest of this post would be if the word DILDO, specifically in connection with me, bothers you in any way.

    If you are neither related to me, nor does the thought of me having a vagina with needs bother you at all, well, … read on… but consider yourself amply warned.

    This story actually starts sometime last year, when I had a nervous breakdown.  At that time, when some days just getting out of my car in the evening took a telephone call for help, it seemed like getting a cleaning lady would be a good idea.  Sure enough, if you’re a secret-A-type-personality (this is officially defined as: high-maintenance emotionally while low maintenance in all other ways) like me , having a cleaning lady is a godsend.  Coming home and finding your shoes lined up and all your dishes clean and put away is the equivalent of letting the steam out of your pressure cooker when it’s at the exploding point.

    Our cleaning lady is this tiny Asian woman who the first day arrived, looked around and shook her head like she had stumbled into a crack den, then informed me that it would take minimum one day to get our apartment respectable.  That’s after we cleaned it up the night before in anticipation of her arrival.  Needless to say, I quickly acquiesced and within no more than ten seconds she was up on a chair, cleaning my ceiling.  I didn’t realize until that moment that my ceiling had become a public housing tenement for invisible insects.  I also didn’t realize that four-foot-tall Asian ladies could move that fast.  Anyway, apparently, some people (people like my mother and the cleaning lady) notice whether or not your ceiling has been bleached lately, so it’s fine by me to have it all clean… especially if my dishes get done and my shoes get lined up in the intermission.

    For a variety of reasons, our cleaning lady has not been here in a few months.  So when she rolled in this morning we got the crack den head shake again, and had to promise to dole out some extra Euros so she could set it right.

    Thus, when I walked into my apartment this evening, I experienced the complete bliss of somebody whose rugs are vacuumed, whose pillows are fluffed, dishes done, and shoes lined up.  Even the dog looked cleaner.  Seriously, I couldn’t have been happier if I were Monica Gellar.  So, I headed over to the fridge to see what I could make for dinner.

    Hmmm, I thought to myself, what frozen veggies can I throw in the soup?

    And I opened my freezer.

    Ahhh, I thought to myself, look how neatly everything in there is lined up! That’s so cool… it just feels nice to have all my frozen stuff… wait…what is THAT…??

    oh… oh …OH SHIT!!!  OH CRAP!!! OH SHIT!!!

    Because, you see, EVERYTHING in my freezer was neatly lined up.  And that frosted (literally!) bluish glass thingy in the upper right-side corner?  That’s a dildo.  Okay, okay … it’s MY dildo.  Which came in a box that described (along with noting it as “blown glass”, I kid you not) how it would be “fun to freeze”.  Which is what I did.  Which is why it WAS hiding behind the big bag of frozen vegetables on the SECOND shelf.  Which it now is not. [Frankly, I think the 'meat & ice cream' shelf would have been more appropriate.]

    Now, this is the kind of lifestyle comedy that I find really funny on a show like Sex in the City.  But in my own life, it will probably require me washing a lot of dishes… and lining up a lot of shoes… and polishing my own fucking ceiling.  Etc.

    The irony of the fact that I am mortified that my cleaning lady saw my dildo but am totally okay with posting photos and blabbing about it all over the internet does not escape me.  As a matter of fact, it pretty much sums me up.

    Welcome to topotales.

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One Response

WP_Blue_Mist
  • Beenay25 Says:

    well…it could be worse…it could have been, I don’t know, a machine gun or a kilo of some ultra-potent drug or a embalmed miniature head or someting…I am sure, though, that the cleaning lady will come now with even more enthusiasm since she knows that, under that mess, she’ll always find something interesting…

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