I can’t remember the maid’s name.
Maybe it was Venezuela, or Rosita, or Maria.
She cleaned every Tuesday.
Which meant that any time we made a mess Wednesday morning, my mother would yell at us louder than usual.
Almost as loud Thursday, maybe a bit less loud on Friday.
All the way to Monday night, which was pretty much “Eh, the maid will get it.”
And she did. The mess would be gone by the time we got home from school Tuesday afternoon.
God forbid we made a mess Tuesday evening.
We went straight to our rooms, hiding and cowering.