When I was little, and we had family dinners with my grandparents, and when the meal was finished, I remember my grandmother asking where Emma was at. Being young, I didn't realize that they were making a joke about the fictional maid who was behind in her duties to clear the table & clean up dinner. A vague way to complain about the work to be done. In fact, that question is still uttered at random gatherings.
I have done a lot of thinking about it, and have decided that I will have my own Emma. It makes me feel better to blame my messes on this figment of my imagination, than to admit I have indeed, done this myself.
On days that it looks as though we live in a frat- house, I will wonder, "Where has that Emma gotten to?" And I will take care of the mess that has been forgotten by my absent- minded employee.