www.flickr.comIt's time for a pity party, and you're invited, unless you are a princess or a man who has a little woman who waits on you hand and foot.
You know the story of the little red hen, right? Well, that is the story of my life -- or at least the story of my life since I left home and married at 21. I thresh the grain, make the flour and bake the bread while everyone around me is oblivious to the need for a freshly baked loaf or bread or anything else, for that matter. Trying to get anyone around me to help -- to do something, anything -- is like pulling teeth. It is more effort than just doing it myself. And therein lies the problem.
When something breaks or needs to be cooked, cleaned, washed, emptied, refilled, mended, carted in or carried out, I look around and see: nobody. Not a single soul who is there to pitch in. Gutters full? Grass growing like a jungle? Trash pickup day? Car broken down? Out of milk or bananas or toilet paper? Gee, what a surprise. Guess it's time to prod the old red hen to get up and take care of it.
My husband is 77 and about as handy as an unsharpened pencil. Two weeks ago, he announced that the wastebasket in the bathroom he uses was full. I suggested he empty it, and he went blank. He didn't know what to do with it. Pathetic.
Zach doesn't even see what needs to be done and has no motivation whatsoever, because of his mental illness, to take care of the smallest things like feeding his cat or carrying out his trash. His washer overflowed and soaked his carpet, and he just sloshed through it for three days until I came to the rescue with a shop vac. Who struggled to suck up the water? I'll let you figure that one out.
If George gets up and his newspapers aren't on the kitchen counter or --egads! -- even worse, we are out of bananas for his cereal, the world may as well be coming to an end. Or if I'm napping on the sofa and it's getting close to dinner time, he'll nudge me awake or clear his throat until I jump to my feet and start to prepare his dinner. There's a reason I don't keep weapons in the house.
Today the leaf blower didn't work, the new lawn tractor's battery was dead, the fence needed to be mended because the dog keeps getting out, Zach's truck needed to be repaired and picked up at the shop, and George's son decided to arrive not at 10:00 tonight, as planned, but at dinner time. So I was "reminded" that he would be expecting dinner when he gets here. No problem, right?
Excuse me while I let out a primal scream. Do I have a sign on my back that says "LITTLE RED HEN" or what? Is there any way out of this? Does anyone have a badly needed word of sympathy for me, or have I brought this on myself?
Thanks for coming to my pity party. Do you mind cleaning up before you leave?
12 comments:
I think you need to run away, that's what I think!! =0 (P.S. Don't forget the checkbook and take the bus so you don't have to worry about the car breaking down!)
Checkbook, credit cards, laptop and dog. I'm thinking of hitchhiking.
Well- do you remember what the Little Red Hen did?
She sat down and ate that bread all by herself. Well, she shared it with her baby chicks.
So....
I agree with Ms. Lo. Journey off on adventure and fun and let them see what life without their own personal slave is like.
Ms. Moon, I wish it weren't true but "adventure and fun" and my nannygoat sister is an oxymoron, I'm afraid. :(
You know, if my son weren't so sick or I could get him into an institution, I'd do just that. Fun? Loie is right. I haven't had fun for so long that I've forgotten what it feels like.
But I might eat all of the bread.
Don't forget the honey and the butter when you eat that bread.
In my world, that would be fun AND adventure, so I know what you're talking about.
Poor Nancy. It seems that you are missing a couple vital pieces of information:
1) The phrase "bite me." Use it liberally when someone makes an unreasonable demand of you.
2) The phone # for the local pizza delivery guy. Feel free to use this in conjunction with #1 at will.
I'm sorry sister :( I guess you will have to put your foot down, and give a few ultimatums to turn these guys around!!! I'm not one to give advice since I have a wonderful helper in Don, and can't relate to the inconsiderate way you are being put upon. Put Nancy first for a change, or they just may not have anyone!! Love you!
It must be that I have brought this on myself, but changing it is hard. George is pretty set in his ways and Zach can't think in a rational way. Well, if you make your own bed, you have to lie in it and not wallow in pity. So the pity party is over, but we probably haven't heard the last of it. I'm practicing the words, "bite me."
It's too bad it has to be that way, huh? Remember how horrified we were at how Arthur (that his name?) treated Doris Falter? The issue is complicated because the work alone is bad enough, but the lack of respect and appreciation makes it 10 times as bad. I don't own a gun, either, because I think sometimes that certain people need killin' for how they treat others (and animals), and it would seem entirely unjust that I would hang for righting the wrongs!
In the meantime, while I'm still on the loose, you can have a pity party on Ajax Rock whenever you want, Nannygoat, and if I have notice, I'll bring the cake!
Oh, goody! Can we do it today? I spent the morning figuring out how to remove the battery from my new lawn tractor, hooking it up to the truck battery and changing it, reinstalling it and finding the damn thing wouldn't start (used exactly twice). Then I did some yard clean-up and took the battery over to the garage to have it charged, went back three hours later to find it is "bad," which means a trip to Sears and an attempt to get them to replace it (never mind my time and mileage). Meanwhile, the grass has grown so tall that the dog practically disappears in it. And Zach had two jobs before I went over to chauffeur him to the store: shower and fry bacon. I arrived to find neither was done and he told me I was "sour." I collapsed on the couch and went into a stupor. And, oh, yes, I washed and vacuumed the truck, because if I'm to drive a NASCAR flag-edition truck around town, it at least has to be clean. On the good news side, George is gone with his son to play golf at Myrtle Beach, so the house is mine, all mine!!!
love love love this! if we lived together, this would never happen!
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