Good morning, Spoonradres. You will be happy to hear that the maid problem has been solved. And while I'm at it, I'd like to thank all of you who stepped forward and admitted that you're also slobs. That went a long way toward making me feel better about my missing gene.

Although I got lots of sympathy, I received no applications from anxious volunteers, so I turned to Ma Bell for help. Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, I jabbed my finger into the Yellow Pages and picked one.

"Coastal Maids," a pleasant voice answered.

"Good morning, this is Youngblood. I'm interested in finding out more about your services."

"We'll be happy to help you, Youngblood," the voice said. "Now. How many square feet of space do you have?"

"er ... less than a thousand. But more than 750. In that ballpark somewhere."

"Okay," she said, entering that data into her equation. "How many bedrooms?"

"One."

"Bathrooms?"

"One."

"Is there scum in the bathroom?"

"I haven't invited any over lately, " I said.

She chuckled. "No, I mean SOAP scum."

"Oh, yes, certainly."

"Would you say that you have light, medium or heavy scum?", she asked.

"Let me just say that this job is a real challenge for some enterprising soul," I explained. "It's not me who's messy, of course. I don't live alone. I share this place with a pussycat and a host of spiders who migrate indoors from the forest. There is scum and there are cat hairs and cobwebs."

She laughed. "Thanks for being honest with me," she said. "You wouldn't believe how many people call and tell us it's just barely dirty and then we get there and find a nightmare. I really appreciate your honesty."

"I am happy to tell you it's a nightmare up front. Oh, by the way, I notice your advertisement says that you sweep patios."

"Yes, we do," she said. "Shall I include that?"

"No, no!" I said. "Please DON'T sweep the patio. Make a big note of that. The patio has been turned into a wildlife sanctuary. It now has several years' buildup of seed hulls and dead leaves and bird feathers out there. The critters would have to start all over again if you clean it."

"Okay," she said. "DON'T sweep the patio."

Then I told her about the two sets of vertical blinds that need cleaning. And the walls of glass which must be washed inside and out. I told her about the refrigerator and the bookshelves. The ceiling fan positioned right over the middle of the waterbed (which is why I haven't cleaned it). The mirrored backsplashes in the kitchen. She wasn't frightened in the least. I figured anybody who could laugh about the condition of my apartment deserved to have a crack at it. So Coastal Maids got the job.

As Dee said, though, there is a certain amount of cleaning that must be done prior to the real thing. Not that I'm going to go to any great lengths, you understand, but there are some things that can be thrown away and others that should be stored before the knights in shining armor arrive.

I was thinking about that process just this morning. Thinking about pre-cleaning made me think about other things, too. Like the wizards and dragons and crystal balls. Like my fungus collection. Like the dead dragonfly and the beetle bodies and the cicada shells. The pine cones and driftwood and seed pods. I hoped Coastal is current on the latest methods for cleaning treasures like those.

Then my eye drifted to a small crystal dish shaped like a star. There's a little bit of Paris in that dish. Lightnin brought it back when he was there last Christmas. He asked what he could bring home for me and I said, "Something from the earth." So he brought back the earth itself, from le Pere Lachaise cemetery, at a spot near Chopin's grave. What if the maid lifts the lid on that dish and decides to clean it?!?

She wouldn't.

Would she?

I dunno ... she might.

I decided I couldn't take a chance. Found myself dropping a note in it that says, "Please do not clean the dirt from this dish."

I'd better leave a sign about the patio, too.