Northern Angel

Grace called me on Sunday and asked me for a favor. She had a friend named Angela in town who was visiting for a few days from Beijing, and as circumstance would have it she needed a place to stay. Did I know anyone who could offer their apartment or house for a few days?

Eric: I’m not sure, it’s kinda weird for people to be hosting random strangers, don’t you think?
Grace: She’s really cute.
Eric: I have a spare key, and am on my way now to buy flowers so I can sprinkle my walkway with petals in honor of her arrival.

So Angela from Beijing moved in. The trouble was, both Grace and I had to work, so Angela was on her own in trying to entertain herself. She assured both of us that it would be no problem, she would just go shop on her own. Sure, I thought to myself, she might not have been a Maria von Trapp, but her addition to the house would surely be a nice break from the monotony of living by myself these past few weeks, ever since Keith left. Also, I had given my maid some time off so she could go back home and hang out with her kid, so the house seemed emptier (not to mention messier) than usual.

After work I had a nice dinner at South Beauty with Sylvia and Joyce, and it was fairly late when I got back home to discover that someone had folded up the bedsheets that had been hanging on the balcony ever since the maid departed and put them on my bed. Odd, I thought, did the maid come back? Nah, couldn’t be, time off doesn’t come by easy for these maids who live pretty tough lives. I went to the balcony, parted the curtains, and lo and behold all my dirty laundry had been washed and was hanging out to dry. This load happened to entirely consist of socks and underwear.

It slowly dawned on me that Angela must have:

1. Folded up the stuff (bedsheets) that had been hanging up there for over a week (I’m not very proactive when the maid is gone)
2. Reached into my hamper and tossed all my dirty socks and underwear into the washing machine
3. Took the stuff out after it was done and hung up, one by one, to dry

It was mostly #2 that really got to me: pretty girl had dug up strange (and somewhat dodgy) dude’s used undergarments on her own volition. I don’t even like touching my dirty underwear, and here she had gingerly draped them over the dry-rack. Additionally, everything on my desk had been neatly re-organized and the trash had been dumped out.

Mommy, can I keep her?

I have often heard that women from the North (i.e. Beijing) are more friendly, hospitable, and considerate of others; women from Shanghai have the reputation of being bossy, incapable of adding value to routine work, and constantly complaining. Since most of my co-workers (including my boss) are Shanghainese women, I like to constantly rib them about this reputation, especially since it’s pretty true! Being in Shanghai, I’ve had more than a few Shanghainese guests bunk here without even making the bed, let alone picking up my underwear. One time someone even took a T-shirt and an ashtray as souvenirs. Here was proof-positive that in this regard, I live on the wrong side of the river.

I came back tonight and the underwear and socks had been folded neatly on my bed, there was a big bowl of fresh salad in the fridge, the dishes had been washed and dried, and the floor had been mopped. Angela had decided it was too hot to leave the house and decided to try out her best maid imitation on me. Tomorrow, we’re going to dinner and to a club, and the next day she leaves for Beijing.

So folks, that gives you all less than 36 hours to help me come up with a scheme to keep her in Shanghai (more specifically, my house) for, well, forever.

Winner gets to wash my underwear. C’mon, everyone’s doing it!