The New Housekeeper........

    Someone had to move first so grabbing the bull by the horns (Oh I do love that saying, happy days, many a Friday night I would go grab me some balls. Sorry slip of the tongue I mean Bulls. By that I mean the summer in Spain watching the ball fight every Friday night) gliding down the stairs,  my arm  wraps tightly around Rosario's shoulder.

Now the real truth......

 Well, what really happened was that as I was gliding down the stairs and missed the last step nearly going ass over tit. Grabbing the mexican, really to steady myself because she was the closest thing to me, just missing her shoulder my arm wrapped around her turkey neck in a sort of head lock. Steadying my nerves and remembering  "It pays to tell the truth" I let my inner bitch out and spoke to the Three Queens.

"Girls what a lovely surprise, but as you can see I have a new Housekeeper. One can see the horror in your faces but you three must remember the Mayor's drinks party and that moving film about 'Help the Aged' Well I thought I would give back to the community and employ somebody nobody else wanted. We are very busy and I will invite you all around when I find out what Rosario can do, so don't stay by your phones as this may take a while."

Before letting out the words " as this may take a while"  I released Rosario and slammed the door shut.

So much for telling the truth, oh well by the time those three old bags get in their cars even that orange jumpsuit would have changed colour. While I have this new determination I better deal with the new Housekeeper. All my senses were on fire and I really had wished I had lost my sense of smell right at this moment as I know that queer smelling odour was not coming from me
.   

 Turning around it was time to direct all my attention to the new Housekeeper.

"Rosario for this to work you will need to know one thing..... I am Queen Bitch around here and you will abide by my rules." (I must stop flinging my arms about it looks like I'm going to take off)

Still nothing on that wrinkled prunes old face, Wow that face is frightening up close and that eye it just seems to follow you while the other stays perfectly still. The more I look at her the more I see wrinkles, does this woman have any part of her that's not wrinkled. I really think I need to bleach my mind with these thoughts of Rosario standing before me naked, that could even turn a lesbian straight. One second I'm thinking about wrinkles the next I want to be given electrodes to rid me of that naked image.

So here are your rules, but not many as I really don't think that withered old brain of yours can cope . 

RULES

1. Never go into my Bathroom. I need one room that's does not smell of old granny wee.
2. Never wake me before midday. You can if you want to suffer.
3. You sleep, eat and live in the summerhouse, no visitors. I don't want my summerhouse and garden used as a daycare centre for the old.
4. No boyfriends or girlfriends (ok with that face and body no problem keeping this rule)
5. As you seem to like to cook that will be your main duty (plus making sure I am happy at all times) but as you are old and can't do the other duties around the house and gardens I will need to get other staff (hunky young men with ripped shirts wading through all my undergrowth). So the wage you would have got is now going on my new GHS project. (GHS stands for Get Hunky Staff. Well, do you blame me.) Just be grateful I am not charging you rent for the summerhouse.
6. Please get that bloody onesie off and your clothes back on until a new uniform arrives.  

"You are a very strange boy " was her only response and she started to walk back towards the kitchen.

"Don't you shuffle away from me when I'm talking to you." I started screaming down the hall.

"I'm your punishment" she shouted back as she kept shuffling.

"You're not my punishment (I have my Mother for that) your just ROTTING FLESH, now hurry up get that onesie off and pour me a large drink.........And use Gloves"

To be continued...........  

Rosario Don't Answer The Door........

    The main reason for buying this house was the three rooms off the master bedroom. Two for the husband to have a dressing and wet room, the other much larger was my bathroom. The only room in the house I could escape the worries of the day.  Ask any decent Queen and I hope most would say that when preparing to meet the general population being able to prepare in a Fabulous, luxurious, Designer Bathroom with amazing lighting is most important. Above all and until this morning when that inmate from hell wheezed her deadly gases into my heavenly bathroom, only the husband had dreamed of walking in. Amazing things husbands, I can spend all day beautifying myself and the moment I'm in the most unattractive position trying to reach and pluck that stray pubic hair he will walk in. I have laughed and cried in that bathroom, a sanctuary, a friend, my confidant and confessor, not anymore the tides are changing.

This could work, what the hell am I talking about, it has to work until Viscount Spendeverypenny comes back off his latest whoring of the world.  Right now I bet he is in some sordid little whore house with a beautiful Ladyboy who's rubbing STD cream all over him ( Ladyboys have all the luck). I have a lots of patience, I have always been known to be kind to animals so an old person cannot be that different. I will need to put down rules and a 6 foot exclusion zone around my body at all times. Plus she will need a new uniform because if she stays in that inmate onesie any longer the neighbours will think a convict had escaped and has me tied up in the cellar. Swat teams will be jumping onto this house quicker than crabs onto a virgin skin. I am sorry but I'm just not in the mood to have dishy policemen going through my nooks and crannies, but must remember that idea for an afternoon when I'm bored...

Telling the truth is the best policy, all I need to say is a friend has gone away and his maid... no thats not right.....His Housekeeper likes to keep her little (scrawny) hands busy so I have invited her to stay with us until he returns. Feeling more relaxed and finishing the last of my packet of marvellous cocktail cigarettes, you know the ones, all different colours. This fabby friend of mine who is a trolly dolly (ageing now but still the youngest and prettiest on the Saga flights) picks them up for me at duty free, they are brilliant at calming me down if the delivery van with the Sloe Gin has not arrived. Pausing to  take a deep breath I reach for the door nob which would take me from my sanctuary to a world unknown. At the same second I opened that door the Westminster chimes rang loud and clear in my ears. Quicker than a whore pulling off her knickers (if she bothers to wear any) I was on the top of the stairs screaming

"ROSARIO DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR"

Too late those little brittle bones of hers has shuffled over the parquet flooring in the hallway and reached the front door handle and pulled even before I had screamed ROSAR...

What took place will go down as the longest pause in Queen History. On the Front door step peering in was the towns three most Gossiping, bitchy, nasty bunch of Queens you could meet (My closest  dearest older friends) With their mouths down by their designer shoes and eyes popping out like someone has shoved something, somewhere they shouldn't. Three Queens staring at the skeleton in an orange onesie and then looking up at me all shell shocked and sober on the stairs, then back to the orange onesie. Rosario just stood between us smiling with that fake dog smile of hers looking like butter wouldn't melt.

My friends I do Love them,. x

To be continued...............
   

The Morning After..........

You can always tell when one has had a good night, normally waking with my face pressed against the cold white porcelain of my Royal Doulton bidet. An empty bottle of Sipsmith limited edition Sloe gin at my feet and normally an empty box of Creme eggs if they are still in season (only available January till Easter). This morning was vey different, ok the bottle and empty box were in their normal places but something was very wrong. Before I could peel my face from the porcelain I could hear deep breathing very close to me. To tell the truth it was more like the death rattle, slowly and calmly I opened one eye. Standing in the door way of my private bathroom was Rosario still wearing the orange jumpsuit holding a cup of tea in one hand and a bacon sandwich on a plate in the other. I must have over dosed last night on Sloe Gin and Creme eggs, died and this was my HELL.

Before I could scream my husband walks in, takes the tea and plate off her and says

" Thank you Rosario, first time in 23 years someone has bothered to cook breakfast for me."

He leans down and kisses me on the forehead and remarks

"Have a wonderful day darling, so glad you have help now, by the way, her English is much better than you think. Enjoy" and leaves.

 In the last 15 years of our life I have never been awake for the husband to leave for work. So what time was it because one has not been seen before midday in decades. My head was pounding and the room was still spinning and all I could see was this orange inmate from God only knows where, standing and shaking her head and muttering something over and over again.

After staggering to my feet I start waving my hands and arms about screaming for her to get out and stay away from my private bathroom. I shoved her out of the bedroom onto the hall landing and just pointed to down stairs and stepped back into the bedroom and closed the door. I awoke a few hours later to the birds singing, it must have been a bad nightmare, see everything is peaceful and normal. Most lunch times when I awake I take time to see who has text and I was in for a big shock. 58 texts from different people all with the same question, "Is it true x."

Gossip and Queens go together like strawberries and cream or Sloe Gin and ice or even lube and poppers. The more I tried to hide under the pillows the more I could hear 'You have a new message" over and over again. How the hell do I explain this one away when for the last few months all ones been screaming on about is how lovely it's going to be watching a hunky young guy bent over my bath tub scrubbing away. Instead of an Adonis gracing my parquet flooring it's a brittle boned old hag, who looks like she would me more happy around a campfire sticking pins into dolls. My reputation is going to be shattered, I will be a laughing stock, the invitations will stop and I will end up going to church with the rest of the low life nobody wants.
My mind was racing with questions like.......

How the hell did that bunch of ageing Queens know I had staff? (Stupid question Gay men know everything, we have done it long before it's happened)

Oiled up hunk or a shifty crossed eyed 154 year old? ( Sorry forgot to mention the cross eyes, I did tell you one tries not to have her in ones eye line)

Loyalty in a major crisis, who can we trust? (HaHa, Queens are faster and more stylish leaving a sinking cruise liner than rats)

Yodelling can it really de stress you? (Anything at this moment would help, the next crate of Sloe Gin does not arrive till 4pm)

Flatulence and old people is it really that bad? ( Just get those wonderful men in to give the parquet flooring a once over, the house always smell extra sweet when they leave)

Understanding her will that be a problem? ( No problem my hands are universal, my hands may be around her throat is she doesn't stop muttering 'strange boy' )

Can I call the gay helpline and ask if their could break the news to our son?  (He is straight and as a dying breed he does not like surprises and this is a big SURPRISE)

Kill the sacrifice, I need to tell my MOTHER!!!

To be continued.........

The Mexican Arrives Part 2

      The letter was from my old Head Boy and before we make any jokes about Head Boy's the answer is...........Lets just say  it was a boarding school....Wink Wink. Turns out he had won her in a bet, hope she wasn't the Jackpot because I would hate to see the booby. The only problem was he was going on a world tour again, in other words he is still living the high life off mummy and daddies fortune. Visiting cities then their clap clinics (us mortals can only dream of such a life). He had heard on the social grapevine I was looking for staff and sent her. At the age of 16 I could never say no to the Head Boy and now at 45, I am still putty in his hands. That has always been my problem, I am too kind, too caring and can never say No. Mix that with a 6 foot 2, blond beauty who is 3 years older and looks 15 years younger well I am a goner.

Her name is Rosario, a very tiny framed woman with bleached blonde going on yellow hair. Looking up at me, staring with beady grey eyes and a smile which can only be described as an advert I once saw about dog chew that makes your dogs breath smell fresh and cleans their teeth. Must make a note to put them on the shopping list for Rosario, sorry back to the advert. The dogs had fake human smiles and that was this face looking up at me. I needed some time to think so I told her to stand and wait until I returned.

When my husband arrived home late that same evening from his work, his first words to me when he greeted me in the drawing room was

"Why is there an old woman in our hallway, who is by the way dripping all over our new parquet flooring?"

Oh bugger I had totally forgotten about the Mexican dripping in the Hallway. My loving, caring, husband just kept laughing once he read the letter. The only thing he did say as he kissed me goodnight in between laughing was that she was my problem now.

Sorting out the dripping needed to be tackled straight away. I was not going to allow her to wear any of our clothes so mincing quickly to our son's old bedroom I grabbed the first item in his wardrobe.

Passing her in the downstairs hallway I beckoned for her to follow me, we moved quickly into the kitchen. I handed her a couple of tea towels and pressed the item of clothing into her hands. Speaking very clear and slowly  I told her to dry off and put the new clothes on. I did use my hands to help with the English, well as a Queen we always use ones hands to help illuminate what ones saying. I left and went straight (which is hard thing for me to do) for the Sloe Gin bottle and thought  "Fuck it" and slugged  straight out of the bottle.

Have you every seen an old, skinny, wrinkly  woman in a Onesies? It would have been ok if it had been a nice floral pattern, stripes or even gingham at a push but not our son, he had got one that looked a lot like the orange American inmates uniform.

Now you are starting to wonder if I was going to allow her to sleep in our lovely blue and white Guest suite and you guessed right. I shoved her out the kitchen door into the garden and straight into the summer house which sat at the bottom right next to the small lake. The lake is not grand more like a puddle with a couple goldfish turned mutant and usually a dead bird floating on the top. Our son used the summerhouse as a hang out with his chums,  very strange smell every time I walked in but I always put it down to teenagers and loads of sweat. The main room had a table, chairs, television and a bed. Off this room was a tiny  cute kitchen, really just a sink in a cupboard and a modern small wet room. I showed Rosario around the room and exited faster than a Bishop in a Gay Bar after another Bishop walks in. I marched straight for the cellar and grabbed that special bottle which I keep just for emergencies.

To be continued.............. 

The Mexican Arrives.........

         After raising our son I thought it was about time one took some much needed  rest and not do so much housework. So the perfect idea was to engage a houseboy to do all the chores, leaving me to enjoy the pleasures in life. For example, lying on the sun lounger watching a muscled tan God aged around 24, with cut off jeans, his ass hanging out, tending to your bush. Or following one around town, carrying all the shopping his muscles rippling with every new bag acquired.  I hope by now you are getting the picture, why do all the work when you can have something wonderfully sinful to dribble at while they buff up your brass. The idea came to me while watching "The Birdcage"  Agador would be perfect, marvellous to look at and handy with a duster.

How I ended up with a 54 year old ( I question this, personally looking at her which I try not to, she would give Methuselah a run for his title) Mexican that can hardly speak any English, has never seen a duster before ended up being my houseboy is a story which I need to share. Well, the truth is my shrink feels it would be good for me to let off some stream and if I wasn't paying him a fortune I would probably let off stream to the closest item and that is usually the Mexican.

My old mother always said never open the door on a cold rainy night as anything may be on your door step and that was a warning I should have listened to. One pleasure on a Saturday night when the weather is so bad is watching the Russian dancer Artem move his tight, round bubble butt majestically around that dance floor while sipping a glass of Sloe Gin. My mood is gay and frivolous imagining Artem and myself dancing hand in hand when I am rudely interrupted by the Westminster chimes from the front door bell. After rewinding the moment Fern Britton grabs Artem's butt three more times and screaming slut at the television screen I pause and go to the door.

Never open your Front door at night.

What greeted my eyes will be with me for the rest of my life. Standing there was this thing that I think was breathing just, totally drowned in the autumn down pour. Only wearing a pink waterproof mack to protect her from the weather, every inch of her was wet. Down by her side was two plastic carrier bags and she was holding what looked like s soggy wet letter.

 As any descent housewife would have done, I politely said  
"No thank you not today"
and closed the door, went back to the lounge and sat down. After about the fourth round of the Westminster chimes I went back and answered the door. The minute the door was unbolted that woman was in like a ferret up a drain pipe. Standing and dripping all over the parquet flooring she thrusts the letter in my hand and screams

 " You strange boy........ READ" 

    

Well, you can imagine the horror on my face, the last time colour drained that fast, well lets just say I was young, foolish and very attractive. Opening the letter and keeping one eye on the creature who stood before me. Well, you can never be too careful, she was quick getting in and before you can lisp  "Poof"  she could have the family silver down her knickers. The letter was addressed to myself  so I started to read. My stomach was churning and  I could feel the sweat sliding down the side of my face, this piece of soggy paper did not bring good news.

To be continued..................