Agnes, our maid, was a whirlwind of a woman. On payday, that whirlwind became a Category 5 hurricane. This particular Friday, Agnes bounced into the kitchen, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Mr. Henderson,” she chirped, holding up three crisp fifty-dollar bills, “Triple the trouble today, sir! Triple the cleaning!”
Mr. Henderson, a mild-mannered accountant who preferred order to chaos, paled. “Agnes,” he stammered, adjusting his spectacles, “I only… I only gave you one check.”
Agnes winked. “Oh, but Mr. Henderson, you forgot the bonus for finding your missing toupee in the bird bath! And the extra for successfully rescuing your prize-winning goldfish, Finny, from the cat! And finally, a well-deserved raise for discovering that your prized collection of porcelain frogs was… well, let’s just say, they’d been enjoying a bit of a ‘re-arrangement’.”
Mr. Henderson stared, speechless, at the three fifty-dollar bills. He’d spent the last week frantically searching for his toupee, Finny (who was surprisingly resilient), and his frogs (which, admittedly, now sported rather fetching miniature top hats).
Agnes continued, beaming, “So, triple the cleaning! I’ll have this place sparkling before you can say ‘ribbit’!” She then proceeded to vacuum the curtains with such gusto that the chandelier started to wobble precariously. Mr. Henderson sighed. He might need a fourth fifty-dollar bill for fixing the chandelier. And perhaps a stiff drink. But hey, at least the frogs looked dapper.
