Dysalexic

I dance with vacuums. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t. On any given day, if I have my iPod, if you are lucky enough you may catch a glimpse of me shaking my ass to various one hit wonders while touting a vacuum at the Danforth Inn. I mean, I’ve gotta keep sane somehow. The job isn’t glamorous. I change sheets and pick numerous pubic hairs out of the shower so that the next guest doesn’t have to run their feet through someone else’s rug. I’m hoping that some day something like Maid in Manhattan may happen. I gots ta get myself a sugar daddy. Just kidding. I love my boyfriend.
Today the realization came to me that people have sex on those sheets. I mean, of course I realized this to me before but when I was making up a room that people were already staying in and stumbled upon packaging for a vibrator and “hot and steamy stimulating lubricant” packages by the dozen, I inwardly gagged. Not to mention my coworker’s comment about that particular brand of vibrator afterward. Come on people. What happened to discretion? My goodness, I am a lady afterall.