Someone save me from myself

I guess I haven't really updated everyone on the fact that I had to stop running for a while. (Foot injury. In yoga. Figures!) But it's been about 2 weeks of no running now. And let me tell you... it's getting to me.

Without an outlet to release my tensions each day, I'm getting a little mentally unstable. I might just go all "Jerry Maguire" on yer ass, Internet.

So anyway, this is my nice, little excuse as to why my blogs have been less-than-regular lately. And a little less-than-spectacular lately, too. It's hard to be witty and clever and engaging and all that junk when your head is foggy.

Hard! (For emphasis).

Oh, woe is me.

Anywho... without a proper segue, let me start in on a new topic. One where I may end up sounding seriously prissy. But I'm not. You guys know Hez... I burp! I giggle at farts! Bathroom humour is the highest form I know!

(Before I go too far down the "bodily function" route, let me bring it back to my topic). This would be: cutting the cord with my cleaning lady.

We all know how excruciatingly hard it is to switch hairdressers, for example. (Especially if you go to someone in between and then go BACK to that hairdresser. Not a good sitch.) It's all because of some odd, Canadian politeness thing, I suspect. Now, imagine how much harder it is to tell a woman that comes into your home that you don't see her fit to clean the hair out of your shower drain anymore.

She has wiped off hubster's pee from the side of the toilet, people. This is serious.

Hubster and I have felt a little silly having a cleaning person in the first place. We are physically able to do it ourselves. And we do quick clean-ups regularly. But we have the money to afford someone to come in every 2 or 3 weeks to do that "serious" clean, so that we at least have peace of mind knowing that there aren't horrible little bacteria men growing all over our floors. Or on the baseboards. Or in areas that I completely forget to clean until I can actually SEE the filth.

So we got a cleaning lady. The thing is? She's been doing a half-assed job for the past year. Like - really half-assed. I could be doing the job she's doing and save myself $70 every 2 weeks.

Which is why we decided to cut her out. As of January 1st.

And now here we are. February 12th.

And she's coming again in 2 weeks.

There's a part of me that can't bring myself to be the younger (30!!)-something who tells this 60-something woman that we no longer "need" her. I feel embarrassed playing the yuppie role in this case. As I go off to drink my Starbucks and listen to my iPod on my way into work and leave her behind, cleaning the food scraps off my floor. (Okay not really. I do a mini-duster-buster of the kitchen floor before she comes usually. I'm neurotic. Yes.)

But really. You get what I mean, right? Who the heck are hubster and I to be all WASP, y'know? Anyway. So that's our problem. Still trying to find a way to tell her that we'll do our own half-assed job, thank you very much. In a nice, non-prissy way, of course.

I will win you over with my smile, and you will forget all about the pee.