Cleaningwoman exotica!

Obviously I survived. I am somewhat gastrointestinally challenged though, so be warned.

Feeling a little under the weather (see? that's where the wind comes in), feeling a little ordinary. I need a makeover. After all, cleaningwoman is a little mundane, except when muttered through the clenched teeth of Rigby Reardon.

Wanting a more international flavour in salute to my non-readers, I massaged cleaningwoman through those handy online dictionaries.

Okay, so I have no life.

Reinemachefrau would be what you'd call me if I returned to my old stomping ground of Backnang, Germany. Tempting as it is, I never looked good in lederhosen even in the 80s.

Femme de menage. Woman of the house. See? Those French tell it as it is. Are you listening, Janitor dear? What's that you say? Menage a trois?

Oh, non, non, non.

Italians would call me Donna delle pullzie. And, believe me, if I ever decide on a career in porn, that's the one.

In Spain, I'm just plain limpiadora. While it might sum up my current fragile state nicely, it's hardly tempting. Unless you're touting viagra.

I'd love to be a takaritono. I'm always hungry, just not Hungarian.

Soujitu. That makes me sound either like a bad headcold or a stale piece of sushi.

Now, those wily Scandinavians.....

According to the dictionary, they don't have a word for cleaningwoman, don't even entertain the idea of a cleaner.

My kind of place. Expect the next post from a sauna in Helsinki.

From the rollmopwoman.