Get social on social media

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

A woman’s work is never done. How could it be when we live with men?

A woman’s work is never done.

How could it be when we live with men?

It all started Saturday morning when I decided to make brunch for my family. I went out to the stand-up freezer in the garage to get a package of bacon. I opened the door to the freezer to find the ice age had begun. Someone, and I am not pointing fingers but it was the only male living in my house, left the freezer door slightly ajar causing two inches of ice and snow crystals to form over everything in it. I unplugged it and left it for a half hour. When I came back, there wasn’t a single drip of water. Everything was still as solid as I left it.

I spotted the Black-n-Decker Stripper 1800 heat gun next to the tool box in the garage and thought “Now that’s a good idea.” I got a harmer and a chisel and began chipping away at the ice to get the food out. Everything was freezer burned. From the perogies I bought two years ago to the pumpkin pie I forgot to serve during Thanksgiving. Everything went in the garbage. Of course, what happens when I see anything wet? I have to pee.

I pee danced down the basement stairs to the bathroom. Of course the one time he remembers to put the lid down is when every second counts for me and my fifty year old bladder. I reach for the toilet paper. The roll is empty. Because no one else in this house knows how to change the toilet tissue roll but me. I change rolls. I go to put the empty roll in the garbage can but the lid is jammed. The garbage is full. Now I have to find a Sobey’s bag in the sink cabinet and change the garbage. Then I find out someone put a Tim Horton’s coffee cup in the can with about an inch of old, cold coffee in it which spills over the floor when I lift the bag out. When I get the bags changed, I reach up and grab the hand towel off the wall holder and wipe it over the floor with my feet to sop up the coffee. Then put a clean towel in its place. My pants are still around my ankles and I now have the bathroom cleaned.

I get myself back together and take the bathroom garbage with me. I lift the cover off the big garbage can in the garage only to find that one is also overflowing. I stuff the bathroom bag on top of the mess and began pulling the big orange bag out of a tub that’s big enough to hold the body of a grown 53 year old, 225 pound man. (Not that I measured). Unbeknownst to me, someone put a half-full McDonald’s soft-drink cup in the bottom of the big garbage bag and it threw up all over the garage floor. Stale, sticky Pepsi exploded at my feet. Cursing and swearing, I dragged the bag out to the side of the house and went back in the garage with a roll of paper towels and begin to soak up the mess. Of course, the Pepsi was sticky and I had to get the mop and bucket to do an old fashioned cleaning on the garage floor. Forty-five minutes later, I was frazzled but the garage was clean.

Then I noticed the stream of water going across the floor and remembered the freezer. It was just starting to thaw. I hooked up my Black-n-Decker Stripper 1800 heat gun and began chiseling my way through the frozen tundra. Two hours later I had thrown two buckets of ice out by the curb next to our driveway and the freezer was washed and plugged back in. This whole time hubby was out in front of the house putting Christmas lights up on “one” tree. I know because at one point he came in the garage and asked “Can you come out and hold the ladder for me?” Because he thinks that no matter what I am doing, I can just drop it to help him. “No!” I growled at him. He went off muttering “What are you in a bitchy mood for today?” He never came back for the answer.

I drag the bag of frost-bitten food to the garbage bin beside the house, put the mop and bucket back where it belongs and make some tea to thaw out my frozen finger tips. It’s then hubby comes bouncing in through the front door like Tigger yelling “Come look at my lights!”

“I am having my tea” I yell back.

“Come look at my lights” he pouts.

“Ok” I drag myself off the chair and go outside to look at the Christmas lights that took over three hours to put in one tree. “They look good” I tell him and turn to go back in the house.

“By the way” he says, “What happened to brunch? Where’s the bacon?”

I’ll give you a hint as to where I buried his body…. He has a great view of the Christmas lights in that one tree.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

I threw my back out taking off control top panty-hose

I am not even joking. Here's what happened....

Friday night hubby BBQed ribs and as usual, cooked way too many, but they were cooked to perfection with smoked hickory sauce dripping from their crispy grizzle. (I know I look at food the same way some women look at men).

Then Saturday afternoon I cooked a big brunch with bacon, sausage, eggs, hash-browns and toast. That night we had friends over for supper. Hubby went back to the BBQ with big, juicy prime-rib steaks and I made German potatoes (these are cooked with a full pack of bacon then the onions are sautéed in the bacon fat and poured over the potatoes. I topped it off with my famous broccoli casserole.
Well Sunday is family supper night and we had baked chicken with all the fixings. Needless to say come Monday morning I was not fitting comfortable in my skirt.

I tried putting and wire hanger through the eye of the zipper pull. While I pulled down on the skirt with one hand and pulled up with hanger in the other hand, the hook on the hanger gave way and straightened out under the strain,  sending me flying across the room.
I laid across the bed and tried to pull the button closer to the hole, but there was a better chance of getting Heather Mills & Paul McCartney back together before this button and the hole.

I finally gave in and decided to take out the big guns... Spanxs and control-top panty hose.
Putting Spanx on is an art form. You have to carefully shimmy them up past your knees and hips. Then when you get the fork in place you carefully roll them up over your hips and stomach like you're rolling up a jelly-role. You take your final deepest breath then roll them past your rib cage until they rest comfortable under your breasts. Be careful not to accidently tuck a nipple in because you will pay for that when you stand up.

Once the Spanx are safely in place I start on the control-top panty hose. Carefully unrolling them up over my ankles, then knees, taking them to the breaking point of their stretch capabilities over the hips and stomach then twisting them till they fall in place.
It's the "Latest celebrity diet!" Twenty minutes to put on Spank and panty-hose, 6 inches disappear off my waist and three off my thighs. I make a mental note to remember to check the Weight Watchers Guide to see if putting on Spanx and control-top panty-hose is in their exercise section. I should get at least 10 points for that.

Once everything is in place, my skirt slips on without a problem. It is actually a little baggy now around the stomach. I am pleased with my accomplishment.
Everything was great until I came home from work. As usual, I am in a rush to get my daughter to her music class. So I run up stairs and take off my suit and begin the decompression process.  I carefully roll the control-top panty-hose over my stomach, past my hips and down to my knees.

I gain three inches back. I sit down on the bench in my room.
I roll the Spanx over my stomach and to my hips. Lunch begins to digest and I gain the last three inches back. It was like opening a big bag of pink insulation. The entire mid-section of my body starts to expand and loosen.

I stand up and bend to roll the panty-hose past my knees. I feel the most God-awful pain starting in my lower back and running through the left side of my body. I am sure I've been shot.
I land on the floor, curled up in ball with shocks of pain going through my body and let out a blood curdling scream. My daughter comes running into the room.

"What happened?"
"I don't know." I think I am having a heart attack but I don't want to scare her. "Call your father and tell him to get home now."

"I should call an ambulance!" she screams. At first I think, yes that's a good idea. Then look down and notice my knees are still tied together with the control-top panty-hose and the Spanx are constricting my hips and blood flow. I have visions of a paramedic writing something about "50 Shades of Gray" in his report on me.
"NO!" I scream. "No ambulance!" She helps me up and kindly finishes taking the panty-hose off. She helps me up carries me to the bed. Then helps me roll on to the mattress.

I knew my next request would ensure her need for counseling someday but  by then she would be married and not my problem. "I need you to get me some normal underwear and help me get the Spanx off." The look on her face was sheer terror but I was determined that if the good Lord was going to take me, it would be in comfortable underwear. If this was to be my daughter's last memory of me, then so be it. It's not like I asked her to change my bedpan.
By the time hubby arrives I am curled up in a ball on the bed in wracks of pain. I refuse to go to the hospital until the indents from the Spanx have disappeared from around by body. Turns out I have a pinched nerve in by back.

Five days, a bottle of muscle relaxers and pain killers later. I only feel a slight pull in my left hip. Tonight Hubby is taking me to supper and a show with friends. I have to fit into a dress. I've spent the entire week on the couch, unable to move, eating Halloween chips. I walk into my closet, the dress hangs on one side, the Spanx and control-top panty hose are on a shelf on the opposite side.  It's like the showdown at the OK Correl.
What have I learned... I am a slave to my vanity. I begin the arduous process of pulling the Spanx up over my knees, shimming them past my hips and stomach, taking that final breath as I roll them past my rib cage.  Instantly I lose three inches.  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like a Polish sausage but nothing jiggles. Yay me!