No Time For Blogging

The cleaning lady will be here in an hour.  She is a good looking blonde ex-Marine who knows from spit and polish.  I have been up since five thirty--my normal hour for arising--busy, busy cleaning "my" area of the condo.  It is ever thus, since first I reached the sufficiently middle class status to hire someone to "do" for us, that is, my then family of wife and four children.  There was no hope that we would get the place in shape, but then she came most afternoons, lots to do with that brood.  Now in my dotage living with a man who looks askance if I leave a dirty dish for more than ten minutes on the kitchen counter, the cleaning lady arrives to place clearly organized around spit and polish.  Well, go to it, pretty lass, it's almost ready, huff, puff, I don't see a thing out of place, nor nary a speck of dust.  You have your work cut out for you!