You know how people talk about "cleaning before the maid comes"? I always thought that was the silliest thing I'd ever heard. They know they're coming to clean. They expect that your house will be dirty since you have expressly asked someone to come clean it for you.
Well, here I am. Running around the flat like a mental patient. Lint rolling the sofa where the cats sleep all day. (Those ugly-ass hairless breeds look better and better each time I am tasked with this job.) Putting away all my embarrassing reading material. (I don't want anybody making assumptions about me just because I'm reading "Diary of a Married Call Girl" and "I, Elizabeth" simultaneously.) Emptying trash bins. (Because my trash? Ain't nobody's biz-nas. Nobody needs to know how many tags I've cut off new clothes this week or how many Starbucks Venti Coffee Frappuccino Lights I've purchased. Plus, I don't want to subject some poor unsuspecting cleaning lady to the discovery of used q-tips and kleenex or the hair I cleaned out of my Mason Pearson. I know everybody has these items in their own personal trash bins but let's face it - when it belongs to someone else, that's gross!)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to empty the recycling bin. (Because it also ain't nobody's biz-nas how many empty wine bottles one might find in there.)