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If you get a bunch of single girls together for ladies night or brunch, eventually one will steer the conversation to how much she really wants a boyfriend. Maybe it’s because she made the mistake of drinking rosé and watching Miles Teller movies on a rainy Sunday, or maybe it’s because she had to move a couch and it was awful, but either way she is grossly convinced that a significant other would dramatically improve her life. Those looks that Miles shot the tall girl in That Awkward Moment would be all hers and she wouldn’t risk ruining her gel manni if there was man to move her Craigslist futon for her.
And to a certain extent, I get it. I’m human after all. I don’t want to watch horror movies alone or have to always walk the dog even when it’s raining and I don’t feel like putting on a bra.
But I had a realization this week while I was deep cleaning my apartment to prepare for a friend who is coming to stay with me. I don’t really need someone to hook up my speakers; I figured that out on my own, thank you very much. But it would be really cool if I didn’t have to Magic Eraser to the whole bathtub, shower, and counters by myself. I don’t want someone to cuddle with during Younger (I have a dog, after all). But I would like it if someone else could sweep up the glass that broke on the balcony and Swiffer the hardwood before I mop.
I had the realization: I don’t want a boyfriend. I want a house cleaner.
When you’re single and you live alone, all responsibility falls on you. There’s no one to text about not forgetting to pick up toilet paper at Target because the one person running to Target is you. There’s no one to help you sweep up all the dog hair in the apartment (seriously, how does it get EVERYWHERE?!) because the only other being in the apartment is the dog, and she’s too busy barking at nothing and you know, being DOG, to help.
I want someone who will unload the dishwasher because I hate doing it and am short so I have to get out a step stool to put everything away. I want someone who will remake the bed after I wash the sheets because I think it’s the worst chore, but I also don’t want to lie on a bare mattress, Breaking Bad style. I want someone else to pick up the damn paper towels and Windex from the store.
And yes, I realize that I can hire people to do this for me. But have you seen how much weekly housekeepers cost? I consider buying $9 wine splurging; I don’t have any room in my budget to afford a lady to come by once a week and clean up after me. You don’t pay a boyfriend to do those things, he just does them because that’s what you do in adult relationships. Or so I’ve been told.
So for the time being, I’m just going to keep complaining about having to do chores and wishing someone would buy me a roomba for Christmas. .
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