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Maid In Oahu Reviews from Real Customers
Clean Slate
It was the coffee grounds that finally broke us.
Not like, broke us broke us. But definitely broke something. Shattered the polite fiction that we could work from home together, live together, love together, and also maintain our sanity while trying to keep our Makiki Heights apartment from descending into complete chaos.
“There are coffee grounds all over the counter. Again.” Kai’s voice had that tight quality it gets when he’s trying very hard not to sound annoyed but is, in fact, very annoyed.
I looked up from my laptop where I’d been deep in a video call with clients in California. Muted, thankfully. “I’ll clean it up after this meeting.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
“I was in back-to-back meetings yesterday.”
“And I wasn’t?”
And there we were. Another micro-argument about micro-messes that was really about so much more. About boundaries and expectations and the peculiar hell of sharing 900 square feet with someone you love while also sharing it with your jobs.
Pre-pandemic, this was never an issue. I worked at my office downtown with that gorgeous view of Honolulu Harbor. Kai worked from his co-working space in Kaka’ako. We’d come home to each other at the end of the day, full of stories, ready to reconnect. The apartment was just a backdrop then, not the entire stage.
But two years into working from home, our little one-bedroom with the lanai overlooking the Ko’olau mountains had become everything: office, restaurant, gym, movie theater, and occasional battleground.
The dishwasher became a particular point of contention. I subscribe to the “let it fill completely” philosophy. Kai is more of a “run it half-empty because the smell of day-old curry is killing me” kind of guy. The bathroom cleaning schedule was another flashpoint. And don’t even get me started on vacuuming. How can two people who agree on all the big important things in life—politics, religion, whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it absolutely does)—be so fundamentally opposed when it comes to basic household management?
One night, after a particularly stupid argument about whether the throw pillows on the couch should be fluffed daily (Kai) or whenever they start to look sad (me), we found ourselves sitting on opposite ends of our lanai, drinking Kona Brewing beers and staring at the city lights below.
“This isn’t working,” Kai finally said.
My stomach dropped. “What isn’t?”
“This whole… domestic situation. We’re turning into those passive-aggressive roommates everyone hates.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Earlier that day, I’d found myself pointedly picking up his shoes from the middle of the living room floor with a loud sigh, even though he was on a call and couldn’t possibly hear my theatrical display of martyrdom.
“What do we do?” I asked. “We can’t exactly stop living together.”
“What if…” Kai took a swig of his beer. “What if we just… stop cleaning?”
I laughed. “So your solution is to live in filth?”
“No, my solution is to outsource the problem. So we can go back to actually liking each other.”
That’s how we found ourselves, the very next day, scanning reviews for local services and plugging numbers into a house cleaning cost calculator. It felt wildly indulgent at first—a luxury we couldn’t quite justify. We’re both frugal by nature, raised by parents who instilled the “why pay someone for what you can do yourself” mentality.
But as we looked at the cost breakdown, something shifted in our perspective. What was the cost of our relationship? Of our peace? Of not having my boyfriend give me the cold shoulder because I left makeup smudges on the bathroom mirror again?
“Think of it as couples therapy,” Kai reasoned. “But instead of paying someone to listen to us complain about each other, we’re paying someone to eliminate one of our major sources of conflict.”
When put that way, it seemed like a bargain.
We scheduled our first professional cleaning for the following Tuesday. That morning, we packed up our laptops and headed to a coffee shop in Kaimuki while professionals transformed our apartment. We returned to gleaming countertops, a spotless bathroom, and floors you could eat off (though why would you, when there are perfectly good plates?).
The difference in our relationship has been immediate and profound. Without the constant low-grade irritation of whose turn it is to clean what, we’ve rediscovered why we chose to live together in the first place. We cook elaborate dinners together without bickering about who’s going to clean the pots. We invite friends over for sunset pūpūs on the lanai without stressing about the state of the bathroom.
Last week, I accidentally spilled coffee grounds all over the counter. Instead of triggering World War III, Kai just laughed and said, “Good thing they’re coming tomorrow.”
Sometimes the best thing you can do for love is admit there are some things you’re just not good at doing together. And then find someone who is.
— Leilani Kealoha, Honolulu, Hawaii