You're born and you die and in between there's laundry. That's the married woman's mantra. Quotidian, mundane, bo-o-oring? Sure. But if I were to ponder the meaning of life, the laundry would just pile up. And for all you vertically-challenged people, you understand that laundry cannot just accumulate horizontally. No. It grows upwards until you can't take it anymore and have to take it down to size.
Now, let's explore the real bane of my existence - dishes. Do you realize dishes proliferate? I mean, sometimes there's a ten-dish pile-up in my sink when I could have sworn that I only put in five. So what do you think happens? I know sometimes they're fruit-ful but that doesn't mean they have to multiply. First of all, there is no rubbernecking in my sink -dishes are not allowed to fraternize. So each item is in a separate corner. But when my back is turned, does the fork form a conga line as the spoons make like castanets and the knife plays the saucer like a tambourine? Okay. So I'm a little fanciful. Then you explain it! All I know is that I put them in a line up when I leave the kitchen, pass back in forth in front of them like a drill sergeant and then take a bathroom break. The next thing I know they've doubled.
Believe it or not, I cook and eat according to how many dishes a dish will generate. Lasagna is basically a one-panner (get with the lingo) but vegetable soup? Forget it. Knives for chopping, the food processor, one pot for sautéing and one for boiling it up. Then there's the soup bowl and spoons and a ladle. Please, unthinkable. I have convinced my husband he is simply destroying his health by eating all those vegetables in one sitting, kind of like taking too many vitamins. The body can't tolerate it and there's bound to be a backlash, it will have to eject them somehow.
Let's progress to vacuuming. I've never understood the purpose of the vacuum. Yes, I know it sucks up dirt and dust but it cannot eliminate the dust that accumulates on the vacuum. Ironic, no? Not to mention the dirt that festers in the vacuum from all the vacuuming. So I just let my vacuum sit in the corner collecting dust. Sometimes it does eye me balefully, but I will not give in. Because dust is everywhere. You say to yourself "just the living room," and then the bedroom needs it, the foyer and "where will it all end!" If the dust mites happen to enjoy a safe sanctuary in the Kreger home, c'est la vie. I already include them as dependents on my W-2 form. And listen, I don't disturb them and they don't disturb me. We have a mutually congenial relationship.
(1) Secrets
Page Two
by: Chave Kreger
Now we come to the piece de la resistance - putting things away. My husband and I have a tacit understanding. He leaves things out and I put them away. Amazingly, he's never thanked me for keeping up my end of the bargain. The thing is we have a one bedroom and there are only so many drawers, closets and cabinets. So I have devised a special system I call “creative caretaking.” His "honey, where is my investment portfolio," can often produce a "you"re sitting on it.' “Huh?” “Yes, sweetheart, just unzip the cushion of the chair you're sitting on and you will find a whole new filing cabinet. Our stocks, health insurance, life insurance and a copy of your mother's living will.” “So that's why I haven't been able to sit normally for the past couple of days. I thought I had bursitis.” Men!
“And, Chave, while you're at it, where is my old address book?” “Look in your blue jacket. I think it's the inside left pocket. No, I keep our phone bills there. Better check the back pocket on the matching pants. No, that's right. That's where I put the pictures of our honeymoon. Oh, yeah, now I remember. They're in the right pocket of your blue vest sweater. That's it. Unless I put them in my purple sweatshirt. Wait, I may have stuffed them into my rabbit's fur muffler, except that I think that one had all the warranties of our electronic equipment. Oh well, that's gotta give you a clue.” “Chave!” “Okay. Just let me get the list of where I keep everything.” It might be in my blue robe, but if it's not, then it's definitely in my copy of Dickens' “Great Expectations.” (clever, huh?) Or in the spice rack after the lemon pepper….”
