The difference in chore-detecting senses among the sexes is amazing. I recognize a chore when it jumps up and slaps me, but The Bride has perfect chore vision.
I step into the back yard only to be soaked by large drops of cold water. Sopping wet, I move forward to discover that it’s not raining. Only then do I realize it’s time to clean out the rain gutter.
Some spouses would put off this chore until asked to do so, but I strive for “validation.” So I walk to the shed to fetch our pseudo-ladder. You remember those folding ladders advertised on late-night television years ago – combination scaffold, stepladder, ladder and contortionist torture device?
I unfold the ladder and lean it against the house, grab a plastic grocery bag and head to the roof. The Neighbor asks: “Should I just go ahead and call 911 now so they’ll be here when you fall?”
Encouragement is always welcome when tackling chores. I clean out the acorns, leaves and sticks, hose out the gutter, and sweep off the driveway to warrant my “validation” (“Good job, honey!”) and move on to more important things – “Gunsmoke” is on. Then there’s The Bride.
The master bedroom’s windows came with blinds – not those flimsy, narrow, modern devices that The Dog can bend with her nose, but wooden types that probably date to Bogart and Bacall. So The Bride informs me that The Man is coming to take the blinds away to be cleaned and re-taped. My question is: How does one find a Wooden Blind Cleaner?
From the same place she found the Painter of Stoves and Ranges, the Professional Window Cleaners Who Said They Could Get Our Stuck Windows To Open But Couldn’t, et al. But these chores are OK because they require workers other than myself. It’s the homemade, do-it-myself chores that cause me to wonder.
“The ground lights in the front are not shining properly and need adjustment. One has been knocked over and a leaf or something is blocking another. Please fix.”
“The curtain rod in the kitchen over the sink is crooked. Please straighten.”
“That nail hanging in the beam in the den has got to go.”
“409 all of the door handles before the guests arrive.”
I have nothing to complain about. The list does not say “remodel the bathroom, wallpaper the living room, put new carpet in the den and clean the chimney.” Of course, The Bride does want. Maybe I should point out the rotting ramp first. “Validation,” after all, beats electrocution any day.