I Hate Tuesday Mornings

when the cleaning lady arrives, not really of course, but we feel such pressure to present a relatively neat space that the night before is a fury of organizing, hiding items in cupboards.  I get up very early almost every day so that I have plenty of time to organize the incredible mess of pill bottles, lotions, razors, tubes, and more tubes that litter what ought to be a spacious and modern counter surrounding my bathroom sink with its oversize over the top Hollywood of the thirties  huge mirror that the previous owner left behind.  And all the while in my frantic rearrangements my brain is whirling with ideas, suggestions, all kinds of improvements that I feel we should make in our lives.  My husband is an introvert who spends hours of his time by himself.  Cocktail parties, any gathering is a torture for him; although he can be charming, his heart is not into it. I am variously described as bubbly and charming or an over the top manic threatening to sink into deep depression.  I prefer the Mary Tyler Moore version of me.  In any case, in the early hours of the morning I think of all the improvements I need to make in my life.  I guess the symbolism of the cleaning lady moves me into high gear since I always have so many things, ideas, suggestions, I want to share the minute hubby comes out into the dining area.  It is a terrible moment, and I have to hold my tongue.  Today I just needed to tell him right away of my brilliant idea of exchanging the door mats in front of the doors of our live in condo and guest residence condo.  Ours is too high, if I feel, and I am afraid of tripping.  He loves it because it is beautiful even if poorly proportioned.  I suddenly feel today that I must, I must, I must make this switch, and so I must talk to him directly.  Still, even I realize this is not the propitious moment as I see him scowling and uttering imprecations when he notices that his bag of dried apricots has got some mold or mildew or whatever.  The cleaning lady will be here in a matter of seconds.  Best to go next door and hold my tongue.