The Housekeeper Strikes Again

This is getting to be out of control. First my housekeeper was asking for gifts and now she’s just taking them. It appears that anything left on my counter on cleaning day is fair game. Before I tell you about her newest instance of thievery, here is how it began.

Two months ago, I left a tube of hair removal face cream on the counter. It was old and I had found it and I was going to use it. We know I love my hair removal tools. So. I come home that day to a note reading, “Heater, I like face cream. Where can I get?” or something like that. The following week, I leave a note telling her it’s all hers, no fee, happy Thursday to her. I know what a crisis Germany is facing with having only this threading trend. I’m happy to share the goods.

A month later I come home to this note.
“Hi. Why do you leave coffee pot in basement? Does it work? I like it.” Well, little Miss Sticky Fingers, I liked it too, before I gave up coffee and before I started burning the fucking house down by using American appliances and shitty adapters. So the day before her next visit, I drag up said coffee machine and leave a note on it.

“Needs to be cleaned. Lots of calcium build-up. All yours. Enjoy!” Let’s be honest. I was giving it away because I couldn’t bring myself to clean it and she loves to clean and so I felt like I was giving myself some good karma or something. When I came home that evening, the coffee maker was gone, as was my note.

I did stop and wonder what else she had been eyeing in my house. She did have access to everything. I imagine she had quite the wish list going and I wondered if I could get her to take the enormous, copper bull off my hands. That damned weathervane seemed like a good idea but so do a lot of things when you’re drunk.

So now we’re up to the week where she transitions from asking for my belongings to taking whatever is left near her cash. Let’s all remember that just two weeks ago she swiped my birthday candle as she scolded me. Well. I thought that was surely it. I would not leave nice things around her money and we could avoid a little, Please Don’t Steal My Shit, talking to.

I was wrong.

Last week I was cleaning out my office, getting ready for the Tour of Guests and found an unused notepad my mother had sent me last Christmas in my stocking. It was one of those Christmas Tree Shoppe notepads, the ones with the magnets on the back so you can hang them on the fridge and use to make grocery lists or chore lists. Well, apparently I had forgotten about it and so la-de-da, I brought the notepad downstairs, put it by the bowl that holds the pens and keys and was tickled we had paper around for notes.

Then I went to Albania and left Mr. H to pay our housekeeper.

He paid her alright. He paid her and he left her a note next to her money ON THE NOTEPAD and sure enough, when he returned that night, the whole damned thing, all 200 fancy pages, was gone.

Next week I’m leaving my dirty laundry next to the money and tying the Mr.’s *charming dog to the counter and hoping for the best.