The bare facts

There are times when you shouldn't be too open to a good thing...even when it's unintentional. This is the story of a relatively young man and the morning that ensured that his apartment would forever remain an eyesore in testament to the fact that he still wasn't married or even in a relationship with a moderately tidy woman. As a bachelor, it is expected that you will have an exiled pair of boxers behind a couch or wayward cutlery from the night when you turned the TV towards the Bedroom door and broke both the cardinal rules your mom gave you regarding food or TV in bed and evil movies where the black guy dies first. This considered, it only makes sense that you should have someone pop by once weekly to clean your house. Which I did. About seven odd times. I kept firing them. See, it's not that I like my mess. It's that I like my mess a certain way. And if you can't strike the balance between keeping the house Martha Stewart (pre-jail) approved and ensuring that I will still find the remote when I come home, then swan song. Until *Mariam came. She was good. After a bout with her my house would glow. DM (During *Mariam) I wanted people to spring surprise visits. I even wanted people to use my toilet (I know crazy huh). It was delicious hedonism. However *Mariam was meant to come only on Thursdays. But on her first day working she came on a Monday cos I needed to give her directions to the place. After which she showed up on Thursday and the magic had begun. Then the next Monday, I woke up late, scratched my bum, took a shower, toweled down, grabbed a button up shirt and sauntered half naked off into the kitchen to drink juice straight out of the box like I do every morning (except when I have company I want to impress). My kitchen faces the balcony and in a moment that jammed the cogs working the picture processing lobe in my brain, as I stepped into the kitchen with my shirt billowing about me and not much else to the imagination, *Mariam stepped onto the balcony landing. Our eyes locked through the Kitchen window and my body went into action before my mind even begun to comprehend the crushing weight of the situation. Time travel can be defined as the moment I saw her and the realization that I was suddenly back in my bedroom putting on trousers and muttering unintelligibly about ' Thursdays only'. When I opened the door for her, she was glassy eyed, vacantly staring over the Balcony into nothing... probably trying to douse the burning image of her boss caught with his pants not just down, but in an altogether different vicinity. I explained to her that she was only meant to come on Thursdays. She nodded understandingly but didn't look me in the eye. She left and later on in the week, I got a text from her saying that she had found a job where she would have to work all week and therefore couldn't come back to my house. She was merciful and left out the word 'Ever'.
I miss her

*Names have been changed for the party's protection and to reduce the risk of any unintended further damage of character. Quite likely my own.