I know the doctor told Rita and me that she couldn’t put any weight on her ankle for four weeks after her recent ankle surgery, but I somehow failed to realize how much weight that ankle has been carrying. I don’t think I appreciated that [as someone has been telling me for some time now]….this house does not…as it turns out…actually run itself. I think this is Rita’s payback for that month of self-quarantining I did in the chore-free zone of the basement [see post here http://savemethecall.blogspot.com/2020/04/upstairsdownstairs.html]
If anyone wants an action shot of me trying to maintain the house, here you go:
There are a few
things I have yet to figure out:
- If anyone knows how to fold a fitted sheet, would you please post the youtube video here? We can invent things like a selfie-stick but not a sheet that is actually foldable? We are focusing on the wrong things, sheeple.
- WHERE do all these dirty dishes come from? I’m going to quit feeling guilty about not going to the gym because my new core workout consists of the sink-to-dishwasher pivot that seems to happen 300 times a day.
- The outside plants have to be watered EVERY SINGLE DAY? That seems needy, doesn’t it? Also – with the heat, there is apparently a “right time” to water the plants. And that is NOT when it is convenient.
- There appears to be a caste system of olive oil that I have yet to decode. Wait – this one is for cooking and this one is only for salads? Don’t you just eat both of them?
- There is a right way and a wrong way to make tea. I thought I had learned that a long time ago from my mom. But the definition of “a proper cup of tea” for an Irish mother appears very, very different from that of an energy-healing shaman. So confusing.
And that is just one week in. Imagine me at the end of a month.
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