Eulogia

Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.

“Barbara: You are the flower in my vase, the maple syrup on my Spam, the ‘Mercedes’ in my Mercedes Benz, the battery in my wall clock, the coke in my rum & coke, the three rings in my binder, the bee in my hive. In short, you mean everything to me. I am blessed to have you as my cleaning lady. Surely you were sent to me by God to open my heart, clean my condo and help me to see that goodness can be achieved by somebody, and that ‘that somebody’ is you. Thank you for being alive. Thank-you for gracing me with your presence on a Saturday morning and preparing my condo for tonight’s party. Thank you for agreeing to pop out of this giant cake at midnight clad only in this thong and dancing to the tune of ‘Surfin Bird’ while holding a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue over your head. You will be the highlight of the night for my guests; the Officers and Chief of the First Precinct.”

Barbara looked at me affectionately, eyes brightly twinkling. She was my fifth cleaning lady in the span of five weeks. I had fired them all for refusing to participate in my weekly parties, and clean up afterwards. Every one of them cited “having good morals” which kept them from that part of the job. They made sick. But Barbara made me feel whole. She said she would do anything for me.

Before I won the lotto for $25 million, I was a high school teacher and Barbara was my student. She would sit in the back corner of the classroom with a dazed look on her face, like she was lost in some kind of dream. After she graduated she went to work for “Clean Sweep Janitorial Services.” That’s where we “reestablished” our connection. I immediately had my attorney draw up a contract and I hired Barbara away from Clean Sweep the next day.

She loves me, but I don’t love her. I like her a lot, but, it’s not love, although I pretend to love her by doing the things with her that lovers do. My favorite thing to do is shower her with praise and watch her revel in my words. Even though my love is pretend, I’m thinking of marrying her. In other words, I’m actually starting to believe the praise I heap on her. Besides, what 46 year old millionaire wouldn’t want a beautiful, loyal, kind, and thoughtful 20 year old wife? I’m convinced!

She turned me down. She told me she does not love me and the praise I heap on her is a bunch of bullshit, but she likes it. She said she wants to keep things the way they are, and besides her boyfriend, Buck Bronkowski, would not let her marry me any way.

Fu*king Goddamn Buck Bronkowski. Class clown. High School drop out. Handsome inarticulate Neanderthal.

I fired Barbara the next day. I replaced her with my mother.