[My darling bride asked me to write an essay for a contest sponsored by a cleaning-products manufacturer. Grand prize: Free maid service for a year. This was an early draft of my entry, about fifty words over the limit. I cut out the alien attack paragraph before subitting.]
We appreciate the offer, but I assure you we don’t need help. Perhaps we don’t keep the tidiest house, but I can find everything, and provide any specific item within seven hours. And they never found our neighbors’ dog, so it cannot be proven that it disappeared into the grass in our backyard. Please, no more speculation.
Would it be nice after a hard day of fixing computers for [demanding] librarians to settle down for a spaghetti dinner in a sparkling kitchen? Maybe, but I love when a meatball rolls off the table. When retrieved, it may bring along a reminder of the spicy curry we had last Thursday. Mmm, curry.
Living rooms are for entertaining, sure, but who has time to entertain? We’re busy living LIFE. Parks, supermarkets, alleyways — anywhere but home. Incidentally, the suggestions that our dustbunnies inspired “Watership Down” are just preposterous.
Hey, I just defended our neighborhood from an alien attack. Would a maid-service candidate have time for that? [Yes, it's true that a giant robot helped, built by some Japanese cartoon kids out of so-called "junk" from my garage.]
If you absolutely cannot find anyone who needs this more than we do, then of course we would accept. It might even “enrich our lives dramatically,” if you judge quality of life on those terms. Seriously, though, don’t worry about us. Sorry, gotta go! Local Civil-War-buff silverfish are reenacting Antietam in our laundry room.