Polish that knob

Last week we took our annual family outting to REI to load up on supplies for our camping trip.

That's right I said camping. If you were a regular reader of roundseventeen, you'd know that camping was the very first in my very popular series of Things Jews Don't Do. So please try to contain your surprise because it only tells me that you're here because of the scantily clad French Maid.

Which I will now explain.

As we exited the 405 South onto Rosecranz, I spotted a hand drawn sign taped to the light pole. There, in very legible type was an ad for HOT BIKINI MAIDS. Will clean anything. Had there not been so much traffic behind me and my wife and daughters beside me, I would have stopped the car and snapped a picture of the sign.

Of course as experience has taught me, pictures (like the one above) do a much better job of wrangling in readers than funny photos snapped on my iPhone. But I did take the time to research the Hot Bikini Maids, a company that offers conventional cleaning services delivered in the most unconventional manner.

The website clearly states that while the maids are beautiful and willing to wear any outfit of the customer's choice, there will be NO hanky panky business whatsoever. They will vacuum and scrub, tease and titillate, but the only happy ending they offer is a clean apartment or a clean house.

Now I'm quite familiar with the full range of human sexual enjoyment and have indulged fantasies of my own involving catcher's masks, hip waders and imported German compression socks, but that's neither here nor there. However, I am having the hardest time wrapping my head around any kind of sexual gratification that might stem from watching a woman break out the brillo pads, the 409 or the dual-speed Oreck vacuum cleaner. OK, maybe the vacuum cleaner.

But here's the most troubling part.

Tomorrow, Mrs. Fernandez, a stout, fifty-something woman from Guatemala will be making her bi-weekly visit to clean our house. Now with my curiosity piqued, I'm going to have a very difficult time not picturing Mrs. Fernandez in a string bikini as she removes the errant bread crumbs from the Black & Decker Toaster Oven.

And as you might have guessed, I would pay money not to have that image in my head.