Stuff White People Hate

I believe there is a time and a place for every power struggle but when it comes to my relationship with my cleaning lady, I should have the upper hand.

It's true. I'm entitled. Still. First there was the scheduling conflict. I get up at 8:30, she insisted on coming over at 8, because that's when's good for her. Then the throwing-away of the cat toys. The constant hiding of the stuffed marsupail, presumably because I'm too old FTS.

Now it's reorganizing my shelves. I made one teeny tiny attempt at decorating, as inspired by a special someone: Books get organized by the color of their spine, knick knacks are placed accordingly. But no, I come home, the picture with me in a pink dress is by the black-spined books. The blue toy is by the red white and black books; the blue bottle on the orange/brown shelf. What?!? I know! It's madness, I tell you.

The internet: Catch the reference.