We had a maid once, she was beautiful and humble. tired and younger than she should have been for the wisdom in her eyes. She new more than my mother, she saw farther than my father and she loved more than I can begin to tell you.
Oh du schöne Maid, sitzt du hold im Kleid. Wüsstest so gern, was du willst, aber das hast du verloren zwischen den Spitzen und dem Bauschen des Rockes, gestärkt nur mit Mehl aber nicht mit dir selbst, denn du bist so schön und perfekkt.
Lonely and heartbroken, she sat. Mopping the floor with salty tears. “Good job,” he said as he came through the door. “The windows next, if you please.”
Lonely and heartbroken, she sat. Moping the floor with salty tears. “Good job,” he said as he came through the door. “The windows next, if you please.”
She wore black from head to toe. White stuck out above the ruffles in her dress and laid softly on her chest and just above her knees. It accentuated what innocence she had left.
She was covered in black. Her outfit, that is. The white stuck out over the ruffles and laid softly on her chest and just above her knees. It exentuated what innocence she had left.
There once was a maid in Dublin who thought that the only way to find her true love was to travel across the sea… upon travelling across the sea she found the most handsome man ever, sadly he was engaged to another… what was this maid to do?
I was a bride’s maid once, and first I liked it, because I always wanted the princess dress, but then I hated it, because you just can’t play and run around in a princess dress, and if you do, it’s always trouble ….
Returning to the room, I found that the maid had already cleared it, so I unfortunately could not find the bag with the floral design I had left there for the gift I had in my hand. She must have thought it was to be thrown away with the garbage…
The Thing was trying to pass itself off as a maid, but it had made some mistakes. Instead of having the clothing swish around its body, it was molded to it, more a part of the body than a separate unit. I grimaced, the Thing never did it quite right. It was so much harder to hide the truth when the Thing was so obvious.
I don’t want a maid. Never would want one. In my mind I see a slightly overweight latina woman bending over this or that with a duster in her hand. No way she could be happy.. so why would I want to contribute to someone’s unhappiness?
sometimes while cleaning, she would come across a hidden gem. last week, she found a photo of the client naked and posing for an unseen photographer. it was peculiar to see him in this light. it made it hard to look him in the eye, but it was delightful.
Black lace as she walks through the room. Knocking more off than just dust. She is classic but so youthful. What immature knowledge does she hold. What will she share. Oh wait, oh what a fantasy
Her first job in highschool was as a maid. She enjoyed the work, some of the time. She liked making beds neatly, and collecting the tips. But she detested some of the messes, and the creepy things that people left behind. Her perspective changed, however, the day she found the doll under the bed.
Maid. What a dirty word it is to them. Do they even realize I am the one that keeps them in the comfortable life? Cleaning, cooking, picking up after them when they walk in drunk from the party they just returned from. And how do they treat me? Like a disease. The Maid disease.
I need a maid. My house is disgusting and a maid would help immensely. Could I also have the maid go to Starbucks for me every morning? I’m really addicted to their iced tea and breakfast sandwiches. I don’t think that’s in the maid job description.
without origin and intimately grounded, a myth
painting feathers gold can live for days, she feels enough
stripped of reason, uniquely naked with apologies, raw
with things she was never taught to feel, beyond the fable
is a lack of sky, father to an empty string clutching at
her feather-duster, an illusion unapparent of people who remain
absent, before essence there is wanton sorrow…
She came out of the room suddenly. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone. We both started back in surprise. She reached into her cart and handed me a chocolate. It made me laugh.
It only took one look at that petite woman standing in her doorway to bring back a flood of memories. Memories filled with grief and sorrow. Memories that could only be tied to one thing and that was her childhood maid Marcy.
what they didn’t see was her lip quiver in the shadows, only the maid knew of her terrible demons. She was the only one to see it when the house was quiet.
I play with words like you play with your genitals. Of course, a maids genitals are clean and STI free. Just like they should be. Perhaps she should do your fapping for you. Just name the price!!! You never know!
She finally let the question form in her mind. How had her life come to this? For months she denied it, but no longer could she silence the voice in her head that sounded not unlike her mother’s. How had she stooped so low as to be a maid for her lawyer?
I am a maid I maid the bed. I always though French maids were really sexy, like the La Yogurt commercial which I never understood why this dolled up domestic was advertising glorified spoiled milk.
They never thought of her as very classy. She was just like every other one in the building, the tips just barely getting her by. The outfits she wore were atrocious. Until one day, she stumbled upon one maid’s costume. And then it clicked.
She was nothing but a maid. A youthful, intuitive child. Yet she was full of the full vibrancy of life, and she had a peculiar allure not met by the more mature or lofty individuals working at the estate.
“Maid? I’m no maid,” she muttered, staring at the unicorn. “I don’t you mean maid-en?” Her companion shook his head, “No, this unicorn likes maids. The ones with dusters and cute outfits.”
She never thought that she’d imagine herself being a maid. Growing up in a wealthy family, she believed that she would always live in luxury. Until the day, the stockmarket crashed, she believed that she would be safe from hard work.
Is it fair to call anyone a maid? In my opinion it is such a degrading word. Say that you have someone coming over to help you, not “my maid is coming over to do my laundry” I don’t care how much money you have.
People here always get maids because they can afford it, but I just can’t imagine someone else cleaning up my mess. How can anyone look at anyone else cleaning up their mess and feel okay about it. Oh wait–my boyfriend is okay with it…when I clean up his mess in MY apartment… how does that work? haha… idiot.
MoH.
I was asked to be the Maid of Honor in my friend’s 2011 wedding. Complete shock. I did not expect it. It’s kind of a lot of work but at least I’m getting to know some about weddings. I don’t care at all about having a wedding of my own but I know my mother does…
What guy doesn’t have a thing for the french maid getup? It’s ridiculously hot. Also, what guy wouldn’t want to have a maid–nobody likes doing dishes and cleaning around the house. Best thing ever? Combine the two.
I am not a maid, I’m not a machine. I was not put on this Earth to be your servant in any way.So why treat me like I was? Why make your demands, and pitch a fit when they aren’t met in a timely fashion?
She was a maid, and nothing more. She took care of her children as best she could, giving them luxuries nobody else could. She gave them the ocean, the sky, the plains they loved to run in, but they took advantage of her. And for that she’d weep her acid-filled tears upon them, destroying all they built.
We had a maid once, she was beautiful and humble. tired and younger than she should have been for the wisdom in her eyes. She new more than my mother, she saw farther than my father and she loved more than I can begin to tell you.
Oh du schöne Maid, sitzt du hold im Kleid. Wüsstest so gern, was du willst, aber das hast du verloren zwischen den Spitzen und dem Bauschen des Rockes, gestärkt nur mit Mehl aber nicht mit dir selbst, denn du bist so schön und perfekkt.
Lonely and heartbroken, she sat. Mopping the floor with salty tears. “Good job,” he said as he came through the door. “The windows next, if you please.”
Lonely and heartbroken, she sat. Moping the floor with salty tears. “Good job,” he said as he came through the door. “The windows next, if you please.”
She wore black from head to toe. White stuck out above the ruffles in her dress and laid softly on her chest and just above her knees. It accentuated what innocence she had left.
She was covered in black. Her outfit, that is. The white stuck out over the ruffles and laid softly on her chest and just above her knees. It exentuated what innocence she had left.
There once was a maid in Dublin who thought that the only way to find her true love was to travel across the sea… upon travelling across the sea she found the most handsome man ever, sadly he was engaged to another… what was this maid to do?
I was a bride’s maid once, and first I liked it, because I always wanted the princess dress, but then I hated it, because you just can’t play and run around in a princess dress, and if you do, it’s always trouble ….
Returning to the room, I found that the maid had already cleared it, so I unfortunately could not find the bag with the floral design I had left there for the gift I had in my hand. She must have thought it was to be thrown away with the garbage…
The Thing was trying to pass itself off as a maid, but it had made some mistakes. Instead of having the clothing swish around its body, it was molded to it, more a part of the body than a separate unit. I grimaced, the Thing never did it quite right. It was so much harder to hide the truth when the Thing was so obvious.
I don’t want a maid. Never would want one. In my mind I see a slightly overweight latina woman bending over this or that with a duster in her hand. No way she could be happy.. so why would I want to contribute to someone’s unhappiness?
She was a maid, looking for someone to clean her house while she was cleaning others’. Ironic. Pathetic. Her house was a pigsty.
Ah, does she go with the meters, with a pail of milk, the upstairs or the downstairs, in a wedding? Is is is she merry ?
sometimes while cleaning, she would come across a hidden gem. last week, she found a photo of the client naked and posing for an unseen photographer. it was peculiar to see him in this light. it made it hard to look him in the eye, but it was delightful.
The mother of this house. Cooks cleans laundry errands runner grocery store!
Black lace as she walks through the room. Knocking more off than just dust. She is classic but so youthful. What immature knowledge does she hold. What will she share. Oh wait, oh what a fantasy
Her first job in highschool was as a maid. She enjoyed the work, some of the time. She liked making beds neatly, and collecting the tips. But she detested some of the messes, and the creepy things that people left behind. Her perspective changed, however, the day she found the doll under the bed.
“Dear lord, darling! Don’t do that… Let the maid get to it tomorrow”.
Maid. What a dirty word it is to them. Do they even realize I am the one that keeps them in the comfortable life? Cleaning, cooking, picking up after them when they walk in drunk from the party they just returned from. And how do they treat me? Like a disease. The Maid disease.
I need a maid. My house is disgusting and a maid would help immensely. Could I also have the maid go to Starbucks for me every morning? I’m really addicted to their iced tea and breakfast sandwiches. I don’t think that’s in the maid job description.
why is it that we cannot be
responsible
to do what is ours to do?
and we are not even any
better
than them, i bet
She wasn’t a maid, wasn’t a servant, wasn’t a slave.
She was a proud woman, and he couldn’t take that away from her.
without origin and intimately grounded, a myth
painting feathers gold can live for days, she feels enough
stripped of reason, uniquely naked with apologies, raw
with things she was never taught to feel, beyond the fable
is a lack of sky, father to an empty string clutching at
her feather-duster, an illusion unapparent of people who remain
absent, before essence there is wanton sorrow…
the help
She came out of the room suddenly. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone. We both started back in surprise. She reached into her cart and handed me a chocolate. It made me laugh.
It only took one look at that petite woman standing in her doorway to bring back a flood of memories. Memories filled with grief and sorrow. Memories that could only be tied to one thing and that was her childhood maid Marcy.
what they didn’t see was her lip quiver in the shadows, only the maid knew of her terrible demons. She was the only one to see it when the house was quiet.
I play with words like you play with your genitals. Of course, a maids genitals are clean and STI free. Just like they should be. Perhaps she should do your fapping for you. Just name the price!!! You never know!
She finally let the question form in her mind. How had her life come to this? For months she denied it, but no longer could she silence the voice in her head that sounded not unlike her mother’s. How had she stooped so low as to be a maid for her lawyer?
I am a maid I maid the bed. I always though French maids were really sexy, like the La Yogurt commercial which I never understood why this dolled up domestic was advertising glorified spoiled milk.
They never thought of her as very classy. She was just like every other one in the building, the tips just barely getting her by. The outfits she wore were atrocious. Until one day, she stumbled upon one maid’s costume. And then it clicked.
She was nothing but a maid. A youthful, intuitive child. Yet she was full of the full vibrancy of life, and she had a peculiar allure not met by the more mature or lofty individuals working at the estate.
“Maid? I’m no maid,” she muttered, staring at the unicorn. “I don’t you mean maid-en?” Her companion shook his head, “No, this unicorn likes maids. The ones with dusters and cute outfits.”
She never thought that she’d imagine herself being a maid. Growing up in a wealthy family, she believed that she would always live in luxury. Until the day, the stockmarket crashed, she believed that she would be safe from hard work.
Is it fair to call anyone a maid? In my opinion it is such a degrading word. Say that you have someone coming over to help you, not “my maid is coming over to do my laundry” I don’t care how much money you have.
People here always get maids because they can afford it, but I just can’t imagine someone else cleaning up my mess. How can anyone look at anyone else cleaning up their mess and feel okay about it. Oh wait–my boyfriend is okay with it…when I clean up his mess in MY apartment… how does that work? haha… idiot.
MoH.
I was asked to be the Maid of Honor in my friend’s 2011 wedding. Complete shock. I did not expect it. It’s kind of a lot of work but at least I’m getting to know some about weddings. I don’t care at all about having a wedding of my own but I know my mother does…
What guy doesn’t have a thing for the french maid getup? It’s ridiculously hot. Also, what guy wouldn’t want to have a maid–nobody likes doing dishes and cleaning around the house. Best thing ever? Combine the two.
I am not a maid, I’m not a machine. I was not put on this Earth to be your servant in any way.So why treat me like I was? Why make your demands, and pitch a fit when they aren’t met in a timely fashion?
She was a maid, and nothing more. She took care of her children as best she could, giving them luxuries nobody else could. She gave them the ocean, the sky, the plains they loved to run in, but they took advantage of her. And for that she’d weep her acid-filled tears upon them, destroying all they built.