I am obsessed that I have no one around who can move heavy objects.
We've already established that I know how to do plenty on my own but is it so bad that I miss having a man around for certain tasks? (Haven't men been keeping women around for certain tasks forever?)
This is when I'm at a loss on my own:
- When I have to move the washing machine.
- When a roach won't die.
- When trash is gross.
- When the pizza arrives and I'm in my underwear.
Until he fixes his GPS, others swoosh in and swoosh out, leaving debris in their wake.
They are the ones who know how to move things but don't know how to put them back.
They waltz in, all strong and handsome, and move heavy objects to my hearts delight. They shake things up, they rock my world, and then they go.
- They moved the washing machine but it's in the dining room.
- They killed the roach but his relatives are here for the memorial service.
- The trash is still gross but at least it has pizza in it.
Maybe I'm losing it. I am afraid that what was once "come hither" has turned into "come hither and hoist me out of this chair".
But it will be OK.
It always is.