Sometimes the term is “ruined,” I s’ppose. 😀
Having a beloved cleaning-lady around is the same as having a beloved anyone-else around: They dork up your carefully ordered life!
This is because cleaning ladies, like other specimens of humanity, have their own idea of how and where things should go and will brook no interference from the likes of you.
Luz is given to removing all the clutter…uhhhh, collectibles…from the mantel, setting them down on the hearth or the nearby desk, dusting the mantel, and then putting the junk back where she thinks it looks nice.
This is not where I think it looks nice.
So this morning I set my butt down at the dining room table for breakfast, gaze across the family room, and see…all my tschotchkes arrayed across the mantel, higgledy-pigglety! Arrrhhhhhggghh!
Finish breakfast, traipse across the family room, and attempt to rearrange the junk the way I want it.
No big deal, one would think. EXCEPT…I can’t remember how I had them. I know that the way they’re now rearranged is NOT that way, but exactly how and why not…i dunno.
Godlmighty. Fiddle around and fiddle around and fiddle around trying to get those things back the way I imagine I like them.
So now we have a new array. Fine. Good. Go away…
Down the hallway in the office, what do we discover but…but…but…
Somehow, for reasons unimaginable, she’s gotten into my Vision System: the collection of accursed spectacles I need to navigate the world.
Back there, on my desk, I have three pairs of glasses:
- Distance only
- Close-up only (for reading)
- Progressives (distance melting into close-up)
Keeping these things straight is a real nuisance. To facilitate that, I’ve got thee glasses cases, one labeled “distance,” one labeled “close-up,” and one labeled “progressives.” But…
Yes: but… Since I tend to be pretty slap-happy, I often don’t bother to put x or y pair of glasses away. So they end up strewn across the desk in my usual slap-happy way.
Well. Luz is the exact opposite of slap-happy. She can’t stand it. So she puts the glasses into the cases…having NO clue what those little labels on the cases mean. This means that now the glasses are all mixed up. And since I don’t wear the individual close/distance/bifocal/progressive pairs often (I use an old pair of progressives for navigating the house and have a pair of driving glasses in the car), I can barely remember which one is which, myself.
It must have taken a good half-hour this morning to untangle THAT mess. And now we’re talkin’ “no small order.”
With the distance glasses, I can see the side of North Mountain (two or three miles off) in exquisite detail.
With the reading glasses, anything beyond the end of my arm is a blur.
With the progressives, I can sorta see the desert on the side of North Mountain, and I can also see to read print on a piece of paper…or the speedometer in the car.
So I have to take three pairs of glasses outside, along with a piece of paper containing 12-point type, and stand there experimenting with them.
Sounds simple, no? Peer through a pair of spectacles: if you can see the shrubbery on the side of the mountain, those must be the distance glasses or the progressives. Look at your hand: if you can see your fingerprints, then they have to be the progressives; if you can’t, they have to be the distance glasses.
How well this strategy works depends on the lighting conditions. And today the sky is overcast. I might be able to see my fingerprints through the progressives, sure…but the creosotebush on the mountain, not so much.
This leads to a certain degree of ambiguity. Not to say “rage.”