My family is one strange puppy. Families are meant to be absurd organisms. A day does not go by where my parents pull something that befuddles the mind - my precious little, brain. When I waltzed into the house - more like swaggered - my mother was scurrying around cleaning. "Take off your shoes. I'm cleaning the house. The cleaning lady is coming tomorrow."
Did she just say the cleaning lady is coming?
Pan to camera as I stared blankly into it.
I had to ask. "If the cleaning lady is coming tomorrow why are you cleaning the house? Aren't you paying her? What's left for her to do?"
"Yes, but the house is a mess," she curtly responded.
Again, the cut scene. The house is pristine. "You're nuts you know that?"
"You want us to live in squalor." My mother had lost complete sense of perspective on what is acceptable living conditions and what is not. Worse, my mother prepares a two-hour huge lunch to feed her help.
The house sits on 9 000 square feet of land and her tiny 5'3'' frame is nervously and neurotically clamouring about frantically to keep it 'clean.' My mother is terrified of dust. She considers it worse than bio-chemical weapons. Iran and the nuke? Bah. Dust is the real killer. My father walks in and literally leaps over the vacuum cleaner on his way to the kitchen. Men care less about dust. Not when there's risotto waiting in the fridge.
"I'll be back," I tell her. "Ok. Do you mind passing the vacuum on the stairs?" I look down at the 15-step monster. The camera pans...
Just another warped day in the household where I grew up.
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