Stepping up the war on domestic mess and chaos in advance of an outsider arriving provokes bubble wrap-induced separation anxiety
‘That’s not, like, mess mess,’ I say to myself, looking at the plastic bin filled with bubble-wrap atop our fridge. It’s about 2ft tall, bulges with packing tape and – I think – Christmas wrapping paper. I stopped being capable of consciously seeing it about a year ago but, in preparation of our babysitter’s arrival, I’m heaving it to the front door, so it can be taken away with the recycling.
She will be our first babysitter who’s not a relation, so I’m finding it hard to act natural, and fretting about appearances. The trick to a good babysitter experience, it seems, is to hire someone who won’t rummage through your things, but to clean your house as if they definitely will. This we did, transforming our house into the antiseptic hellscape we presume respectable people live in; no load-bearing food stains, no unwieldy clutter in every room. We cleaned the fridge door, scrubbed the bathroom mirror and washed out the cutlery drawers, careful to remove the biros and bits of fluff which had therein accumulated.
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