She doesn't talk to me, the new girl I mean. Perhaps she doesn't like me? She cannot cook and never learned to make tea. It doesn't matter because I know how to do it. I think my mother doesn't like her. She says nothing but the way she looks. In the afternoon I see her writing in a notebook. It's not a diary but a book for the new girl. I hope she can read. If she cleans she need to read how it has to be done. My mother wrote numbers in front of the steps she should take. Each room has many numbers. How to clean the door, the windows, the cupboard and so much more. Monday's and Friday's are the special days. The days I need to wake up 30 minutes earlier and everything has to be wiped clean with a wet cloth. No not wet but humid. If I clean the door I need to wipe it off 30 times. Thirty times in exactly the way my mother told me and wrote it down for the girl. Thirty is clean, twentynine is dirty.
I wonder if the girl will call home to tell her parents or perhaps my aunt? I think mine ain't knows. My mother says my father wants everything clean. If he wears white gloves and checks it the gloves should stay white. I don't know if this is true or she just wants to make me believe it. I never saw my dad wear white gloves or check the house. The only one who does that is my mother. I know it, Francoise knows and the housekeepers who worked for it know she does so too.
Tuesday
September 29, 2020
A part out of "A kid's diary"
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