Why do women still shoulder the bulk of the criticism — and responsibility — for a dirty house?

When our house cleaner told me she was retiring, I felt despair — the kind when a cherished relative dies, but worse because this person was more useful to me.

I live in a house with four adult children and a husband. The day the cleaner comes, my house feels like those people don't exist: she was that good.

But the grieving process couldn't be prolonged because I could see the body hair starting to pile up on the hardwood stairs. Did I mention that my ethnic heritage is Punjabi? Only Greeks and Italians can understand hairball problems. I can't own pets because the family already sheds the equivalent of a St. Bernard, two chow chows and a Siberian husky.

I turned to Kijiji and found "Ashley." Ashley came and cleaned my home. I gave her a poinsettia that I got free from Superstore. As a Muslim, I didn't have enough experience to keep it alive. We agreed on a biweekly schedule.

A few hours before her next appointment, she texted to say she could never come back.

Was it a race thing? Is it because I'm Muslim, brown, wore a head scarf? I creeped her on Facebook to see if she was a neo-Nazi. Nothing came up. She had disappeared without explanation.

My husband had his theory: it's because we live in a state of squalor. My parents may have emigrated from a third world country but now I was having first world problems. I work full-time. Cleaning my home is not solely my responsibility.

My husband believes we just need to lower our standards. The problem is we still live in a gendered society where "lowering standards" is translated to the woman letting her house go. Women still absorb the bulk of the criticism when it comes to a dirty house. No one was going to blame him for having furry floors.

I hired a second woman. We'll call her "Chelsea." I came home at lunch to see how she was doing.

"Are you sure you've had a cleaner in before?" she asked.

"Why?" I responded.

"It looks like it's never been cleaned in 17 years."

I tried to impress her.

"I created the show Little Mosque on the Prairie."

"Never heard of it."

"It ended in 2012."

"I'm not sure if I want to clean your house. It wasn't even picked up."

The idea of "picking up" your home or basically putting all your crap away before the cleaner came hadn't occurred to me. That's probably why the last cleaner didn't have time to clean.

I saw her packing to go. Panic surged through me. If I had learned anything form Sheryl Sandberg it was to "lean in" in moments like these. Why should women let marriage and children hold us back from the things we want?

"It's my husband: he's the problem. It's been a good 25 years but maybe it's time to have sex with someone else," I said.

"What about the kids?"

"They're over 18 and it's time to kick them out."

She said she would think about it. I e-transferred her the fee before she cleaned to bribe her to continue. I had already given away my only poinsettia.

I felt judged and horrified. There are five other adults living in this house. Why am I the one being blamed? Women are making more strides in our careers than any other time in history. We can lead nations, run corporations, earn a percentage of every dollar a man makes, but we are still responsible for hiring a cleaner and taking the blame when the said cleaner isn't cleaning. 

That evening I told my husband how horrible it was to be judged.

"She said our house looked like no one ever cleaned it before."

"Who cares what people think?" said my useless husband.

"I'll need you to tidy up before she comes."

"Forget it."

"I want a divorce."

"Fine, but this is too much."

My husband refused to kick the kids out. He said they'd become drug dealers and if I felt judged now, just wait.

I binge watched the Netflix series Tidying Up with Marie Kondo. The Japanese are not famous for their excessive body hair, thus leaving them a lot of time to tidy up. Plus, Marie Kondo isn't living with a man who denies he's a hoarder. Every single piece of detritus sparks joy in his heart. His vehicle is a moving landfill — and no one judges him.

We have come to a compromise. The cleaner has decided she can learn to move a few things and clean around them. My husband will grumble about how his possessions keep disappearing. I will live with the pressure of having the perfect home, an elusive goal that will forever be out of my grasp.

I will win an Oscar and my cleaner will sigh, and be forced to dust around it.