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She's 33, single, her Mom babysits her 5 year old son, she reassures herself it's just 2 more hours, then it's the blessed weekend with some delicious sleep, no nest egg, just getting by. There is one kind aging matron who makes her lunch when she cleans her home, yet other well-to-do homeowners cast their false superiority heavy in the air as she in imaginings wipes off their smug faces with Pledge. She hums to a catchy pop tune while scrubbing toilets and spraying down whirlpool bathtubs as her own muscles ache, maid for the ungrateful, she smiles remembering her First Holy Communion, her snow-white lacy veil with her rosary as if made of perfect pearls, then a memory of teenage politics of high school with random daydreams like impromptu snapshots. Her lips and throat dry from those damn aerosol sprays - always forgetting her face mask, a few sips of warm Gatorade, she prays her son will excel in school, as her learning disabilities held her back despite her gift of intelligence. That day's cleaning was at the home of a lawyer's snooty wife lunching with friends after klutzy attempts at tennis at the country club, maid for the ungrateful can hardly wait to get home to soak her feet with warm water and Epsom salts in an old basin. ~
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