I feel that I have been faced with a moral dilemma, a true test of my humanity, a monumental decision that one faces but a single time in their life: my housekeeper keeps stringing my guests up by their entrails but he also folds my bed with hospital corners.
I have thought often how unfair it is that I must make this decision, that I of all people have been selected for this Sophie’s Choice. Do I fire my housekeeper, Lucifo, and allow my bedsheets to hang loose from mattress, or do I keep him and spend every conscious moment living in paralyzing terror? On the one hand, Lucifo has never missed recycling day. “How do you always remember Lucifo?” I ask, to which he responds: “shngis eonuffcts oloqefdcŦliesdsus”. On the other hand, Lucifo tears off the arms of my friends and family and has constructed a throne out of the severed appendages that he has placed in front of my bed. Despite reminders that he is not being paid overtime, Lucifo sits there and watches me while I sleep. I do not understand how he keeps getting in, as I barricade the door nightly.
Oh woe is me that I have arrived at such a fork in the road in which one route contains neatly folded hand towels placed daily beside the sink, and the other contains luncheons that do not end with my relatives being mutilated and carried away into a thick fog. I have discussed the matter with anyone who will listen and yet still no clear answer has surfaced. “Oh my god, please call the police or something, holy shit” says my therapist, “Jesus Christ why are you talking to me about this call the cops right now you fucking lunatic” says my lawyer, “My legs, where are my legs!?” says 14 15 my interior decorator. So you can see why I am so unsure.
Oh but the most painful part, yes the most excruciating of these unjust circumstances is that Lucifo dries the inside of the sink with a paper towel after use to prevent water damage, but also I let him outside once and he slaughtered every dog on my street, leaving their collars in a damp pile on my doorstep. I reminded him that this was not how Secret Santa worked as those collars were clearly from him, and then next year he left the pile under the doormat. And so you see another dilemma I must face: Lucifo is quick to embrace new ideas, but also he kills every dog in my neighborhood annually.
Sometimes as I lay awake in bed, Lucifo staring down at me while he chokes the life out of a small animal, I remember my life before all this. Going out to movies with my cousins; oh the way they used their still attached arms to carry those big tubs of popcorn that we could never finish. Inviting my friends over to watch the game, and yelling as they used their still attached arms to grab the last slice of pizza. Just looking at pretty much everyone I knew with their arms still attached. But also my stovetop was fucking filthy.
Other times as I lay awake in bed, Lucifo still staring down at me, setting a Bible on fire, I recall how he came to me. My home was a disaster, hand towels folded in a disorderly fashion, my sink streaked with watermarks, bed corners folded without a care in the world. Something needed to be done, and the someone to do it seemed only a pipe dream, my knight in shining armor who would forever remain just a hopeful figment of my imagination. Thank God for Angie’s List.