I'm high-maintenance

To myself. Which is why it's a problem and why I'm talking about it.
And why it ties in quite nicely with my rant about Jeff Goldblum. Surely, high-maintenance as I understand it means about as expensive to him as a baguette to the average French person. Mind you, baguettes are more and more expensive these days. It's getting ridiculous, 200 grammes of bread are going for €.75, extortion is what it is. Even more so as they're going to put less salt in it.
Right. High-maintenance, we were saying. Before I quit my job (god I can be stupid sometimes), I was toying with the idea of having a femme de ménage (sorry, but translating it by maid is just preposterous* and I'd feel like Scarlett O'Hara (ooh, hang on, Rhett Butler... Hmmm... No. Stop.)) so femme de ménage it is. And before you jump on your high horses and JUDGE me, I was TOYING with the IDEA, and if you knew me, you'd know that means it would have taken quite the little while before I actually did something about it. Which doesn't necessarily augur well for the architect, but that's so beside the point I won't even broach it.
So. I don't know many people who love to blow a week-end on the housework (apart from my mom, but she is one of a kind and even though I take after her, I have made a few choices, and one of them was that I'm not going to be disturbed like that). I know what you're thinking now. You're thinking that now I don't have a job, I at least have the time to do it and still enjoy the week-end.
And you're probably right. Oh how I hate it when people are right. Although in this specific case, you're really only half right. Yes, I do have the time, but see, I seem to be physically incapable of getting to it. Much like Batman is physically incapable of showing any superpowers, I'm pretty sure I can make a baguette-shaped pochoir** and place it over a big lamp, but I can't sweep, hoover and wash. And that's a problem, because I also like my place to be clean. Ish.
We're back to Jeff Goldblum, aren't we? See, if I met Jeff Goldblum (or George Clooney, I mean, if it all translates into me getting to have a femme de ménage, I might lower my standards a little), I wouldn't have to worry about brooms and vacuum-cleaners. I'd just have to concentrate on keeping the bounty-hunting bimbos at bay.
Oh dear lord.
I just can't win, can I?

Bring on the mop.

* Yes, I realised - it took me a while - that cleaning lady would be a perfectly acceptable equivalent, but humour me, will you? We all know the world is not a perfect place, and I'm trying to blend in.
** Actually, if you had the pochoir idea but were thinking of a broom, a hoover or anything remotely reminding of a housework accessory, contact me. Please.