Traumatised

I'm not sure how to start this post.

There are moments in life that just leave you speechless. Gob-smacked. Flabbergasted. Traumatised!

Maybe that's why I'm finding it so hard to start - I'm suffering from PTSD. But bottling the trauma up inside is not going to help me move on so, as hard as it is to find the words, I'm going to try to get it out so the healing can start.

But before I start I need to give you some background info.

I have a cleaner come in every week to clean my house. Evelyn has quite possibly saved my marriage and the lives of people I love. When the kids were little and I was working 70+hours a week establishing my business, she was the reason that I wasn't screaming like a banshee at my family if they left a mess anywhere. If I had to clean the house and it was being trashed as soon as I was finished I was a psycho.

I wasn't particularly fond of cleaning house. But I was less fond of living is squalor so I did it. Very ungraciously. 

And then, like an angel sent from heaven, Evelyn arrived.

Her weekly visits saved my husband and children from a brutal, bloody death and me from a life of baking cupcakes in a prison kitchen.

Evelyn has been making her weekly visits for about fifteen years now. And she's almost like one of the family. She's seen the kids grow up. The dogs adore her. Iven loves that he no longer is nagged about doing his share. And I just love coming home from doing the groceries on Thursday to have the house smelling clean.

But yesterday she did something that's bordering on unforgivable.

After she finishes cleaning she always has a cup of tea and I'll often offer her a cupcake or a piece of cake. Which she usually accepts. She enjoys it and I get to rid myself of excess cake. I never mind sharing the cakes because I love to bake them but I don't particularly like to eat them and there's only just so much that the family can get through.

I started work, as I usually do, before she left and, as she usually does, she dropped past my workroom to say goodbye. But before she said goodbye yesterday she said, 

"I hope you don't mind but I helped myself to a couple of pieces of your rocky road. I love home-made rocky road!"

Just typing that has my heart racing and my heart thumping. 

My home-made rocky road is sacrosanct! No one gets a piece unless I, the bestower of all things sweet and chocolatey, deem it thus. My husband knows this (and he also knows that I put in lots of nuts because he doesn't like nuts and won't be tempted to break his marital vows). My kids know this. Even my kids' girlfriends know this. 

No. One. Touches. My. Rocky Road!!

So many thoughts flashed through my head at the speed of light. Some involved assault with a deadly weapon - they were the most fun. Some involved torture - I've heard that needles inserted under the toenails can be quite excruciating and I have plenty of needles in my workroom. Some involved a gentler approach of just screaming incoherently until she became so terrified of all the crazy that she dropped the rocky road as she fled. And yes I totally would have picked it up out of the dirt and eaten it. Only after I'd dusted it off - I'm NOT an animal.

But, amid all the voices in my head imploring me to do bad things to the mean lady, there was one loud voice of reason that reminded me of just how much I love my clean house every Thursday. That I can always make another batch of rocky road but there's only one Evelyn. And it was this voice that prevailed.

It still took me every last ounce of self restraint to stop me from chasing her down, tackling her to the ground and prying those two chunks of delicious goodness out of her grasp.

Twenty-four hours on and I'm coming to terms with my loss. And I have a plan to prevent it from ever happening again.