Why? I don’t think she’s doing her job. I mean, really, why did she leave the house all messy like that? I don’t understand, there’s dust everywhere. Seriously… Ugh.
a man needs a maid. I was thinking that i would get a maid. Someone to fix my meals and go away. Someone to clean my house. A maid. A man needs a maid. a maid is a clean house.
maid, what an interesting word. it has many connotations…slave, sex, submission, maybe they actually have the power. they do know all of our secrets…curious.
tHE MAId walked through the door. Sarah looked up, trembling as she lay in her bed. “Sarah,” the maid looked at her through the dark…why are you crying?”
in the country where my parents are from, which is a third world country, everybody has a maid there. their salary for working 24/7 is that they get a chance to stay at the house and receive a sliver of a food each day. i dont think thats good enough. frankly, im against the whole idea.
she had the hair of an old dry hand. there was nothing perfect or proper about her and she had a little tiny tattoo that snuck out of her hip and told stories. it said: i didn’t always want to be a maid. it said she was something deeper that the countertop grime and layers of dust that she cleaned today.
i am not your maid. yes, i may clean up, but you start to expect it, that’s when i draw the line. i mean, doing something nice for your own household is good, but i don’t want the expectations of doing it all the time. call me lazy all you want, but i’m not doing it over and over if you don’t expect anythign else from me.
That’s what they called her. “Old maid,” actually. She tried to hide how much it hurt, and they didn’t say it to her face– but it hurt all the same. She had chosen her career back when the choices came up, despite what society told her; and now, finally, alone, she would spend the last of her days.
I see a beautiful women in a outfit made of lace. Nothing short of spectacular, she is a women very worth looking at. More than anything else from her face you can see she is from a foreign country. Most likely from a south american country, her English is bad yet she exudes an aura of intelligence and grace quite unlike many other immigrants.
milk maid
singing
with her cows
in the pasture
she lives
she is happy enough
he will never find her in her confinement
she will grow old
alone
with the cows
Maid is an interesting word. It can range from a many a thing. But the one thing that comes to mind is the young, beautiful french maid bustling around with a feather duster in hand. What can we take from such a creature, one whom only strives to please under the watchful eye of which doles out its pay. Are we all subject to those whom we recieve our pay? Are employees subject not only to their superiors but also the customers they serve? A man whom believes himself to be completely self relying still must rely on another soul to substain himself. A society of leeches…
I wish I had a maid. She could do all of those chores I never like to do. Cleaning under the couch, scrubbing the stains out of the knees of my son’s jeans. I could get some time to myself. I feel like a main more often than not, and being able to pass off some chores once in a while would be fantastic!
Being a maid sucks. Not in literal a working maid who cleans a house but a maid who does everything in life. Taking care of the kids, cleaning feelings away, cleaning other people’s mess.
The maid was suspiciously slow about cleaning the rooms today, Clarissa noted this fact with some satisfaction as she watched the young lady dust the mantle. Jerry didn’t believe there was anything wrong, but he would soon see: Something was up.
French. Black and white. Let’s hope that the area isn’t too dusty, because chances are she doesn’t want to be dusting. Nor do the feathers want to be covered in dust; I mean, after all, it’s dirty and filled with tons of particles that make me cringe.
Oh man I am so disapointed in myself. The first thing I thought of when I saw the word maid was the TV show Gilmore Girls, because the Grandma fires Maids a lot. I can’t believe I’m still alive.
she makes the bed just like every day. she sweeps the floors, she does the jobs you’d never do. but every day she goes home to her daughter, makes dinner for her and her mother who watches that precious little girl all day. then she goes out again, because she needs money to get by.
So the maid is buffing the tables. Then in walks her master. He walks right up to her and slaps her in the face. She curtsies nicely and says, “Thank you sir,” and then leaves. His wife walks in, and asks to see his palm. She sees the red mark, kisses him, packs her bags, and leaves.
man needs a maid could be seen as a controversial song, but isn’t it the issue of feminism and such that is controversial and not neil’s song, what did neil do other than be honest, don’t punish him for being honest when others were worse.
The maid was French, and he liked that. He liked the way her uniform looked on her curvy body, so he acted on his desire. So what if he had a wife? She was gone during the day, so what was there to stop him? The affair was tumultuous…love, hate, hate, love. It was perfect.
I’m the maid. Swear to god. I feel like that no matter where I go. Always picking up after someone. Not even literally all the time. There’s always a mess. And I can’t stand it. So typically I’m the one stuck picking it up.
if i was a maid i would clean up this mess i made and make everything better. how do i fix what is already fucked? im as bad as you drunkenly point out.
The lady stood there idly as the chambermaid buttoned her dress.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Doing what, my lady?”
“This. Why am I putting on this elaborate, uncomfortable costume just to please my husband at tonight’s ball? Why should I do it just for him, despite all his abuse against me?”
A pause.
“This is our role as the women of the home, my lady. Now turn around so I can tie the back of your dress.”
I sit there, on my old, crooked wooden chair. It squeaks with every breath I take in. I think to myself how I ever ended up here. It reminded me of him.. I then felt a soft tear drop land upon my brittle hand.
The maid is always the one to pick up after me. She always comes in the mornings around 6 and leaves around 11. She works hard. I’ve never thought much about her but sitting in the emergency room, waiting for someone to come get me to identify her body, I suddenly wish I could’ve known more about her. Maybe I could’ve saved her from her cruel fate — 2 bullet wounds to the head. Why?
Maids make me sad. I once had a maid. She ate my little sister. Just kidding. I don’t have a little sister. But only because the maid ate her. Mean mean maid. Mmmmm alliteration. Anywho, I miss her a lot. The maid, that is. She used to give me cookies.
Sure, she was only a maid, mopping and sweeping and all of that, but she could work her way up, couldn’t she? She would get there, eventually. Someday, she could have this old house and a hundred maids!
She finished sewing the quilt, looking out the window with tired yet happy eyes. She was a never-been-kissed old maid, but she had made sure she would never be lonely.
She was suppose to be the maid for the family, sure she knew it was dangerous to work under the same roof and to serve the person she was in love with.
He was the young master and all she could do was admire from a far and nothing else, this was a job. A job that she needed. Desperately.
But when he had approached her she knew it wouldn’t end well for her, he could always recover from an indiscretion but for her it was an irrevocable damage to her reputation.
She’d loved him since they were children even when he’d gotten cold towards everyone. She wanted to say no but no one refuses the young master, not even her, he’d take what he wanted, there was no escape.
She was just a maid and she would gladly serve her master. And her only love.
Why? I don’t think she’s doing her job. I mean, really, why did she leave the house all messy like that? I don’t understand, there’s dust everywhere. Seriously… Ugh.
a man needs a maid. I was thinking that i would get a maid. Someone to fix my meals and go away. Someone to clean my house. A maid. A man needs a maid. a maid is a clean house.
lady low income servant uniform ungrateful sexiest job female equivalent to butler.
maid, what an interesting word. it has many connotations…slave, sex, submission, maybe they actually have the power. they do know all of our secrets…curious.
tHE MAId walked through the door. Sarah looked up, trembling as she lay in her bed. “Sarah,” the maid looked at her through the dark…why are you crying?”
in the country where my parents are from, which is a third world country, everybody has a maid there. their salary for working 24/7 is that they get a chance to stay at the house and receive a sliver of a food each day. i dont think thats good enough. frankly, im against the whole idea.
she had the hair of an old dry hand. there was nothing perfect or proper about her and she had a little tiny tattoo that snuck out of her hip and told stories. it said: i didn’t always want to be a maid. it said she was something deeper that the countertop grime and layers of dust that she cleaned today.
i am not your maid. yes, i may clean up, but you start to expect it, that’s when i draw the line. i mean, doing something nice for your own household is good, but i don’t want the expectations of doing it all the time. call me lazy all you want, but i’m not doing it over and over if you don’t expect anythign else from me.
That’s what they called her. “Old maid,” actually. She tried to hide how much it hurt, and they didn’t say it to her face– but it hurt all the same. She had chosen her career back when the choices came up, despite what society told her; and now, finally, alone, she would spend the last of her days.
My mom was a maid in Hongkong during my highschool days. We miss her a lot during occasions.
I see a beautiful women in a outfit made of lace. Nothing short of spectacular, she is a women very worth looking at. More than anything else from her face you can see she is from a foreign country. Most likely from a south american country, her English is bad yet she exudes an aura of intelligence and grace quite unlike many other immigrants.
milk maid
singing
with her cows
in the pasture
she lives
she is happy enough
he will never find her in her confinement
she will grow old
alone
with the cows
My heart was thrown away by the maid. No wait. I found it underneath my dirty laundry.
I rather write about barf. Jesus.
I HATE MAIIIIIDDDDDSSSSSSSSSSS. Ugh I want a new word and I don’t how to figure this out. grrrr.
Maid is an interesting word. It can range from a many a thing. But the one thing that comes to mind is the young, beautiful french maid bustling around with a feather duster in hand. What can we take from such a creature, one whom only strives to please under the watchful eye of which doles out its pay. Are we all subject to those whom we recieve our pay? Are employees subject not only to their superiors but also the customers they serve? A man whom believes himself to be completely self relying still must rely on another soul to substain himself. A society of leeches…
I wish I had a maid. She could do all of those chores I never like to do. Cleaning under the couch, scrubbing the stains out of the knees of my son’s jeans. I could get some time to myself. I feel like a main more often than not, and being able to pass off some chores once in a while would be fantastic!
Being a maid sucks. Not in literal a working maid who cleans a house but a maid who does everything in life. Taking care of the kids, cleaning feelings away, cleaning other people’s mess.
The maid was suspiciously slow about cleaning the rooms today, Clarissa noted this fact with some satisfaction as she watched the young lady dust the mantle. Jerry didn’t believe there was anything wrong, but he would soon see: Something was up.
French maids. Halloweeen outfits. The card game “Old maid”. Maid of honor. Maid is a attractive word that you dont often see alone.
God is not our maid. Sometimes we have to clean up out own messes.
French. Black and white. Let’s hope that the area isn’t too dusty, because chances are she doesn’t want to be dusting. Nor do the feathers want to be covered in dust; I mean, after all, it’s dirty and filled with tons of particles that make me cringe.
Oh man I am so disapointed in myself. The first thing I thought of when I saw the word maid was the TV show Gilmore Girls, because the Grandma fires Maids a lot. I can’t believe I’m still alive.
she makes the bed just like every day. she sweeps the floors, she does the jobs you’d never do. but every day she goes home to her daughter, makes dinner for her and her mother who watches that precious little girl all day. then she goes out again, because she needs money to get by.
Did any French maids actually dress like “French maids?” Was a tiny lace cap and a skirt that stops at your asscheeks EVER a working uniform?
So the maid is buffing the tables. Then in walks her master. He walks right up to her and slaps her in the face. She curtsies nicely and says, “Thank you sir,” and then leaves. His wife walks in, and asks to see his palm. She sees the red mark, kisses him, packs her bags, and leaves.
man needs a maid could be seen as a controversial song, but isn’t it the issue of feminism and such that is controversial and not neil’s song, what did neil do other than be honest, don’t punish him for being honest when others were worse.
Sexy in their little outfits. I love to see them bend over to dust my table. I like them French. It is better when they don’t speak English.
The maid was French, and he liked that. He liked the way her uniform looked on her curvy body, so he acted on his desire. So what if he had a wife? She was gone during the day, so what was there to stop him? The affair was tumultuous…love, hate, hate, love. It was perfect.
black dress, white apron. keeping your house clean and fulfilling your nasty fantasies.
I’m the maid. Swear to god. I feel like that no matter where I go. Always picking up after someone. Not even literally all the time. There’s always a mess. And I can’t stand it. So typically I’m the one stuck picking it up.
if i was a maid i would clean up this mess i made and make everything better. how do i fix what is already fucked? im as bad as you drunkenly point out.
The lady stood there idly as the chambermaid buttoned her dress.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Doing what, my lady?”
“This. Why am I putting on this elaborate, uncomfortable costume just to please my husband at tonight’s ball? Why should I do it just for him, despite all his abuse against me?”
A pause.
“This is our role as the women of the home, my lady. Now turn around so I can tie the back of your dress.”
Quietly, she turned around.
I sit there, on my old, crooked wooden chair. It squeaks with every breath I take in. I think to myself how I ever ended up here. It reminded me of him.. I then felt a soft tear drop land upon my brittle hand.
The maid is always the one to pick up after me. She always comes in the mornings around 6 and leaves around 11. She works hard. I’ve never thought much about her but sitting in the emergency room, waiting for someone to come get me to identify her body, I suddenly wish I could’ve known more about her. Maybe I could’ve saved her from her cruel fate — 2 bullet wounds to the head. Why?
Maids make me sad. I once had a maid. She ate my little sister. Just kidding. I don’t have a little sister. But only because the maid ate her. Mean mean maid. Mmmmm alliteration. Anywho, I miss her a lot. The maid, that is. She used to give me cookies.
Sure, she was only a maid, mopping and sweeping and all of that, but she could work her way up, couldn’t she? She would get there, eventually. Someday, she could have this old house and a hundred maids!
She finished sewing the quilt, looking out the window with tired yet happy eyes. She was a never-been-kissed old maid, but she had made sure she would never be lonely.
She was suppose to be the maid for the family, sure she knew it was dangerous to work under the same roof and to serve the person she was in love with.
He was the young master and all she could do was admire from a far and nothing else, this was a job. A job that she needed. Desperately.
But when he had approached her she knew it wouldn’t end well for her, he could always recover from an indiscretion but for her it was an irrevocable damage to her reputation.
She’d loved him since they were children even when he’d gotten cold towards everyone. She wanted to say no but no one refuses the young master, not even her, he’d take what he wanted, there was no escape.
She was just a maid and she would gladly serve her master. And her only love.
Is the Maid of the Mist really made of the mist? Or is she just a servant of the elegant falls that could engulf her in one shot if it wanted to?