Delores, my cleaning lady, was over this morning and thank god she was loaded up on all that good diabetic and anti-depressant stuff she takes or my house probably would have taken her four hours to clean and not two. She’s been rather chipper since being falsely diagnosed as a schizophrenic for insurance purposes. Believe me. Delores is no schizophrenic. That’s for sure. But her doctor gave her a whole bunch of medicine to take which turns her into Wonder Woman the Cleaning Lady; not to mention a great storyteller.
Her first order of business, before cleaning, was getting her profile off Match.com. She wasn’t sure how to do it herself and so she asked for my help. “It’s just not for me, Tracy. There’s too many three-hundred-pound weirdos out there. Can you please delete my account?”
Two weeks ago she was all about men and thought it was a good idea. “I’m ready for a little boy friend,” she said. And so, in her words, some white-trash, crack-whore friend of hers got her started.
“I’ve slept with ten mens since I been on. All black men, because I like the big cock,” this woman told Delores. But Delores found that to be rather disturbing considering that one in three black men (according to her) are infected with the HIV virus. “And what’s a white woman doing chasing after black men anyway? Stick with your own kind,” Delores told her.
Anyway, by the time she got to my place, she’d changed her mind about online dating and didn’t want to do it anymore. She doesn’t have a computer. She can’t type. And besides, her only match seemed to be this one, over-weight black guy whose profile claimed he was a “thrill-seeker” and up for “deviation and fun” as early as the first date.
That’s definitely not Delores. Or at least not the Delores that I know. She lives in a little apartment with her little dog Max and her interests are watching TV, shopping at the mall and going to church. “I prefer to meet men at the grocery store,” she said.
Anyway, I deleted the account for her and as she went about her work she imparted motherly advice as she always does, and told me this great story about “Alden,” someone whom she met in her apartment complex, which makes me think all that talk about a little dog, shopping and church is a cover. Delores might not be so innocent after all…
Here’s her story:
“Miss Tracy [I swear she called me that. To this day I have no idea why], you always got to watch yourself. Men are crazy. Only wanting one thing. Like this man over in Apartment B, ‘Alden.’ He comes out and starts talking smack ’bout wearing silk underwear. Ain’t no man I know wear silk drawers. That just ain’t right. He’s been living with some woman for twenty years but he catches me walking past his place with Max in the afternoons and stops me all the time. Always wantin’ to talk. “What you doing today, Delores?”or “How’s Max today, Delores?” Hell, I don’t want no trouble. And then, just last week he told me to close my eyes, “Just trust me Delores, I want to show you something.” What the hell you gonna show me with my eyes closed? I said. I don’t wanna see nothing. But he grabbed my hand and stuck it down his pants. And lo an’ behold that man was wearing silk drawers. Just like he said.
Maybe it was mansilk, I said.
Child, he was nothing but ten miles of bad road.
And then, a long pause.
And then, while pulling Curious George out of the sofa she says, “But, damn. So sexy. I ain’t got much in the way of fantasizing, you know. But I keep playing that one over and over again in my head. I could use some Alden every once in a while…”