“Are we officially yuppies now?” Andreas asked me, as we drove home in our Subaru station wagon, warm and caffeinated from two cups of chai (non-fat for me, soy for him). I sighed and said, “Yes.” It was the truth — because yesterday I did something I’d never done before: I hired a friend named Kell to clean my house every two weeks.

You see: cleaning makes me angry. I am deeply jealous of my friends who find cleaning therapeutic, because it’s the opposite for me. It feels me with rage and resentment and bitterness. I know not why. But something about cleaning makes me feel violent. Every single mess is somehow not mine, and I want to blame Andreas for the pile of my dirty underwear on the floor and the bowls of crusted yogurt in the sink (riiiiight, cuz the vegan ate that bowl of yogurt). Poor thing.

I’m making a concerted effort this year to chill the fuck out, and trying to eliminate a rage-inducing chore is part of that. Plus, I didn’t go looking for a cleaner. A member of my extended circle of aging ravers cleans for a living, and while I’d never feel comfortable with a maid service (I’ve read Nickel and Dimed for godsake!), somehow it feel ok to keep it in the family and help support a single mom. Plus, I made a point to pay Kell a third more than her asking price, which I felt was too low. Cleaning is hard fucking work! I should know, since I hate doing it so much.

Still, it felt strange. I’m such a bad cleaner that I couldn’t even think of what to tell Kell to do. Our house is far from squalor — Dre and I are tidy, but not clean. In other words, the house wasn’t a mess, but it was grimy. When I walked in and saw the kitchen after Kell had worked her magic, I was stunned — you mean, the cabinets are actually WHITE?!

And so now, every two weeks, Kell will come and help us clean. I’m doing what I can to get over feeling weird about it — it’s absolutely worth it to me, but there’s some part of me that feels like I’m now a half step away from chinos. Oh god: and I’m totally lusting after small dogs. Odd. I’m like my own trophy wife.