It didn't take long for me to figure out that Bobby was not a Rockstar. He was a professional handy-man/painter/construction worker/odd job for a buck guy who dreamed of stardom. Although he lacked profoundly in the boyfriend department, he was a big help to me in keeping my apartment clean, constantly sweeping the hard wood floors, doing the dishes and making my life look better by keeping things tidy. Bobby even painted the walls of my little home without being asked.
At first, I really liked having a handyman and live-in maid. But when I realized that he swept the floor every day instead of looking for a job, the spic and span clean room began to annoy me.
“Didn’t you just sweep yesterday?” I asked as I entered my flat after taking Blondie on a walk.
“Yeah but you and the dog tracked dirt in,” he replied.
“It’s okay, we live here,” I said, as he pushed the broom toward my feet.
“Move so I can get that,” he motioned for me to get out of his way.
“You should think about getting a job instead of cleaning all the time,” I scolded as I took the leash off Blondie. He answered me with silence, just the sound of the broom sweeping across the clean wood floor.