"The Post It Always Sticks Twice"

My cleaning lady broke up with me today on a post it note. A POST IT NOTE. No call, no text, no heads up. It was stuck to my kitchen table with my name at the top, ( spelled wrong), that reeked of Soft Scrub . The note went a little something like this: " This is my last week working for you. I don't like your vacuum. Thank you for all the years". ( Six plus years, thank you very much, we were closing in on the seven year itch). I sincerely understand how Carrie Bradshaw felt when Burger left her high and dry and ended it all on a " small square that could fit into one palm as you angrily crush it into a ball" post it note. My now "ex" told me a few weeks ago that she missed the family/our family ( cry me a river) when she was on vacation. And now we were yesterday's recyclables. With a last quick swifter sweep of our apartment and the last swipes of organic cleaner ( Eco friendly for the love of my child), our flame is out. I thought we had something special. We had our every other week stand in , I only supplied cash for her services and my god she had a key! She always had something to say and enjoyed commenting when I looked fat in spandex, when I looked skinny in jeans, or would throw me a dirty look when I was lurking around on her turf during clean up time.

Breaking up is hard to do but on a post it note? After so many years how can one convey what they feel on a post it note, you can't for Pete's sake fit more than 20 words on it! The post it is the "mini me" of the paper family, ( I have nothing against little people/"mini mes", let the record stand) . Not to mention,  this size note barely sticks to any surface and most of the time winds up on the floor or on the bottom of some stranger's shoe.  The post it note feels like a cop out, a stationary after thought that embodies some meaningless, unreadable scribble.  AND lets remember this breakup was over a vacuum! So the vacuum wasn't her dream model. Hell she picked this one out herself 2 years ago when she warned me things weren't "working" and we were disputing over the older model. But the vacuum wasn't cutting it anymore because in her head she had already moved on and was leaving my square footage behind.

On my recent LifetimeMoms.com biography ( link attached for those that have missed it), http://www.lifetimemoms.com/contributors/aly-organek when I was asked what the name would be of my own Lifetime Movie, I said I would call it  “The Never Ending Crazy Seinfeld Episode (You Can’t Make This Stuff Up).” What I meant was you can't make this shit up! Its ludicrous, its insanity, and is almost as bonkers as Carrie Bradshaw's sickness for shoes mixed with Kramer's mangled coif . I'm dealing with crazy peeps and situations more often that not these days. Maybe that's part of NYC living, but the post it note is forever tainted !

So farewell Victor/Victoria, its been swell, didn't we almost have it all? Looks like the sheets just weren't aligned for us.  Oh and for you matchmakers out there, I enjoy long walks on the beach, candle lit dinners for two and any Dyson vacuum model that will have me...