North Star Writers Group

There are many columns written – both in print and online – about whether or not a marriage is worth saving. But when it comes to saving a friendship, all of the advice seems to be of the teenage “but she stole my boyfriend” variety.

Yet there are lesser, more adult offenses. And I am about to share a real life recent example.

Last week, a friend of six years called me – unsolicited, mind you – to notify me that she had found me a housekeeper and was going to drop her business card off to me. Let’s call this friend Diane.

You see, Diane had just been to my house a few days earlier. I was out of town, and she very kindly stopped by to help direct a paint contractor I had hired.

As she went on and on talking about this perfect model of a housekeeper, I simply wasn’t sure how to react. A housekeeper? For me? I don’t deny that I am no Martha Stewart, but wouldn’t any woman be offended to hear that her house simply did not meet the cleanliness standards of a friend?

I decided to go back in time, calling up any conversations that Diane and I have had in the past about the general topic of home cleanliness. I am quite positive that at no time in the past have I mentioned wanting or needing a housekeeper. It’s not that it’s a bad idea. It’s a great idea. I am sure I would love it. But I know – and have always known – that if I had that extra money to spend each month, that would not be my chosen expenditure. Having a housekeeper is simply low on my priority list and miserably fails the desirability test when compared to say, saving for an island vacation.

So the question remains – should I be offended? After all, I’m not immune to brief moments of insensitivity and like any breathing human being, I have placed my foot into my giant mouth before.

I’m not really upset that she thinks my house is dirty. On that particular day, it was. If I am honest with myself, it looks like that on most days. I have the same reasons as many other busy and modern women who work, have families, love their household animals, volunteer and have a plethora of interests outside the home. I guess if I walked into my own house as a complete stranger, my assessment would be “yeah, it’s pretty messy.”

But this was no stranger. What bothers me is not her honesty about my dirt level, but it is the concept of a “friend” who really cares about something this trivial.

You see, I absolutely adore my friends. Many are educators and social workers. Others are among the best dads and moms I have ever met. A few are CEOs and another is a mail carrier. What they do means nothing. It’s who they are. All of them have these traits in common: They are intelligent, fun, caring people who are too laid back to care if a thin layer of cat hair appears to live on my baseboards.

So where does that leave Diane? Again, the recollection of the past six years creeps in. I’ve been to her house several times – and it is always spotless. Clearly, this is a priority for her. I am a person who admires those who consistently keep their priorities straight, as long as their priorities are helpful to self and society – not like getting away with crimes, excessive intake of mind-altering substances and stuff like that. But priorities related to family, work, physical and mental health are good. A clean house certainly could fall into one or more of those categories.

I am glad that’s a priority for her. It isn’t really a priority for me.

Am I a little offended? Sure. But in this case, I have decided to forgive the insensitive comment and chalk it up to “she’s just trying to help.” She is simply assuming that we have similar priorities, and since we have been friends for a long time, why shouldn’t she assume that?

Perhaps she thinks cleanliness is next to godliness. So in her eyes, I have red horns, a tail and a pitchfork. But at least I know this. I don’t remember the topic of grimy floors being covered in the Bible. I do know that forgiveness is one of the major tenets. In that realm, I am thankful – and Diane should be too – that I have earned my wings.

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This is Column # CD10. Request permission to publish here.