Mom would be proud of me.

I'd make a good housekeeper. Never took home economics, as it was called when I went to high school. That was only for girls. But my mother taught me how to clean house. And to cook. Albeit, I fine-tuned the skills on my own. I'll never be the housekeeper my mother was. Because she was addicted to it. Cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. Never stopped until the day she died. Washed windows well into her 80s. Pulled out the heavy refrigerator and stove. To clean behind and under. Every week. If not every day. In mid-life, she became an interior decorator. Trained herself. She was a natural. Anyway, I do a good job of keeping my living space reasonably neat and clean. For a man, at least. And I can cook better than most women, in my humble opinion. I was motivated to learn how to cook. Because that way I was able to make exactly what I like. Meals that suit my exotic tastes. Anyway, the cleaning lady didn't show up today. So I've swung into action. Vacuuming and mopping the floors. Preparing supper well ahead of time. Getting it all cooked for reheating tonight. And now I'm gonna do the ironing. My true love is teaching school today. I wonder if she'll be surprised when she comes home. Especially when she opens the refrigerator. I cleaned that, too. It was a mess. Disorganized. If my mother was here, she'd be proud of househeeper Jim. --Jim Broede