The Last Load of Laundry is Done.

Recently, my attorney made a life changing decision that affected our marriage and the lives of our children. A decision I have mixed feelings about; one I am reluctant to discuss for fear of revealing too much about me, our house, and our marriage. My attorney hired a housekeeper.

I never thought in a million years I'd grow up and live in the big city in a house with a maid. But here I am, sprawled on the couch in my fourth hour of bad television with the hardest part of my day—lifting my feet so [the housekeeper] can vacuum under the couch. I'm exhausted.

This comes at a great time in both our careers as My Attorney is poised to move forward into some new professional tier I barely comprehend but translates into "more time at the office," and my second career is finally crawling out from under its rock and showing its face.

It's almost silly for us to have a housekeeper as our house is so small you could keep it in a bedroom drawer and still have room for socks and loose change. But contained within the basement is the eighth wonder of the world, a challenge to mountaineers everywhere, Everest's sister peak: Mt. Laundry.

Or it used to be. For as long as we've been here, our laundry room has been anywhere from hip to shoulder deep in dirty clothes. Although we tried, we could never get that last mound of moldy duds into the washing machine before the kids turned their closet inside out down the basement steps to fill up all available space.

But today, today is historical. Today, our housekeeper, this magical whirlwind of industry, this woman composed, apparently, of a secret cabal of elves, just did the last load.

I can see floor.

I'm wearing a shirt I haven't seen since Roon was a boy. We have ALL OF OUR SOCKS. It's a miracle.

And I need to name it. As I suddenly have more time on my hands which, to my dismay, My Attorney has refused to allow me to dedicate to video games and porn, I will be writing more. Here. In this here space. For you. And I owe it to my sexy successful Attorney—and her maid.
Since I'll likely be mentioning this person, and since I value people's privacy, and since I don't want to get sued, I'll need to provide this person with a nom de blog and I look to you, gentle reader, to assist.

Please name my maid in the comments section below. The winning name's author will receive a free copy of my co-authored book, The Beat Cop's Guide to Chicago Eats.