There’s a theory that we only use one tenth of our brain. The way I figure it, the rest of our brain is there to fill our skull space. If you think about it (with your ten percent) our skull would be permanently misshapen just getting through the birthing process if there wasn’t something to fill it up. It also means that the ten percent of brain we use can only hold so much stuff, only I’d like to figure out how be more selective in what it retains. I can remember my phone number, the recipe for peanut butter with jam sandwiches, and that i comes before e, except after c, unless you want to win a Spelling Bee or you’re using Spell Check on your computer. I can’t, however, remember algebra, physics and other academic trivia. On the other hand, Brian can remember algebra, physics and other academic trivia. He can’t, however, remember where he put his glasses, car keys, or his sense of humor when I’ve thrown out a melted piece of unidentifiable plastic that I’ve been picking up and cleaning under on the counter for the last 83 days, because it must have been something identifiable at some time, his curiosity is piqued, and maybe he’ll find a use for it someday (someday being never).
The other day I was on the sofa, sipping coffee and minding my own business, when Brian goes to the book shelf, picks out a textbook and tells me that Math is the language of Physics. AHAAA! I thought to myself. It all makes sense to me now (not Math, just why I don’t get it) I can’t speak anything but English plus a few phrases in Mumble, which is an ancient language that dates back thousands of years and has been traced to the Frustrated Women Of Men Who Understand Math and Physics Support Group who met weekly in the basement of their local community cave facility.
So I’m sure you understand when I say that I’ll take doing housework over doing math or physics or other related stuff any day … After all, at this point in my life, I find it difficult to see algebraic, motion, or elemental equations doing much for me. Whereas housework is a constant in my life, as I watch a new layer of dust form before I’ve even lifted the cloth from the table. Now I’m not saying I can’t do any equations. I most certainly can. Here, let me give you a few examples:
b + s + wf = um (boots + slush + white floor = unhappy me)
B + w + m = hm (Brian + water + mop = happy me)
2pB + 1pC = Y (2 parts Baileys + 1 part Coffee = Yummy)
Housework, in general, isn’t really too bad, so long as you stop for a sip of Bailey’s…I mean Coffee…every 15 minutes. It’s a good way to burn off energy (housework, not coffee). I’d like to pass off cleaning the bathrooms, but I can’t get any takers in my house, although a couple of weeks ago Brian did take the drain apart to unclog it. He held up a rather large blob of hair that he was pretty sure was the problem, and gazed at me inquiringly. I was shocked because he doesn’t have that much hair and it isn’t that long. I thanked him and set to work cleaning off the floss debris artwork on his side of the mirror, while he cursed as he put the drain back together and it leaked.
Leaving him to tackle the leak, I enjoy a sip of coffee and then saunter into the laundry room. As I sort, pre-treat and load the machine, I wonder if there’s an equation to figure out how many single socks it takes to satisfy the washing machines appetite, and then I realize I’ve never HAD a machine that was satisfied, leading me to give up math all together.
Eventually…sip…sip… I grab the vacuum cleaner. Out of all the chores that need doing, vacuuming is probably the one that Brian will sometimes do without being asked. I don’t think it’s because he likes to vacuum, I think it’s because a vacuum has a motor, makes a noise and therefore could be classified as a toy (of sorts). I’ve endured patiently watched while he’s taken apart a vacuum, and then triumphantly repaired it, so that I can continue the never ending attempt to get momentary control of the dust bunnies…sip. Do you know that they’re made up of hair, dead skin, lint, dust and spider web? Yup. Dust. Never saw that coming. All I know is that a whole colony of them live in our house. The other day I found a sock under the sofa, and it made me wonder if the dust bunnies were in cahoots with the washing machine because I couldn’t find a match for it anywhere.
After…sip… assuring myself that the dust bunny colony is under control for at least 12 minutes, I head toward the bedroom, intent on making the bed. I always often occasionally get the urge to make the bed as soon as I drop the clean sheets on it, but first I have to negotiate the clothes that are having a get together on the floor in front of it. The clothes Brian wears to work in the garage like to nest there, and they’re usually accompanied by his regular everyday clothes. By the end of the day his wear to the office clothes, that I had pressed and nicely and hung in his closet prior to his wearing them, never find their way back to a hangar or appropriate resting place for one more wear (when applicable) because the fumes from the garage clothes somehow hypnotize him and instruct him to drop them on the pile. But I digress…sip. Anyway, I eventually make the bed and although the sheets fit nicely at that moment, by the time I get up in the middle of the night to pee (sorry about the visual) one of the corners has snuck its way up and is threatening to snap over my head when I’m sleeping, thus suffocating me and leaving Brian alone to battle clogged drains, lost socks and dust bunnies.
It’s no wonder I don’t usually get everything done in one day. I’m a firm believer (i before e) in putting off until next week, what I don’t feel like doing today.
Excuse me, but I think I’ll take a coffee break…Gulp…