Five hours, that’s how long my husband took to power wash our backyard deck. Every single space between the wooden planks had to be flushed out, why I don’t know. Believe me, most dentists don’t drill out the decay in a tooth’s cavity as meticulously. I tell ya, that deck would have to stretch from here to eternity for me to spend that long cleaning it. Which is where he might have landed, in eternity, if he hadn’t finally shut that darn thing off. That machine sounds like a jackhammer and it bores a hole in your scull, so now I have one to match the hole in his head.
“Who spends that much precious cleaning a deck?” I annoyingly asked him.
“Somebody who takes pride in his work,” and he could hardly spit the words out he was so pooped. But wouldn’t you know, he was still able to utter more? Darn. He even struggled to stoop down to hand me the hose.
“ Here, wanna use this thing for the inside of the house?”
“Inside?! Won’t it strip the paint right off the ceilings and walls?” I gasped.
“Along with the dirt,” he sarcastically added. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you spring clean.”
“And you never will, because by your ridiculous standards, I could never do it throughly enough. Much to your chagrin, I’m into cleaning with something bigger than a cotton swab. Who beside you cleans with a Q-Tip? An otologist, that’s who, Stick that in your ear and see how you like it. And by the way, I do spring clean all right, but in the wintertime while you’re so engrossed with your sports on T.V. Haven’t you ever felt me whipping the cushions out from under your rump, and scrubbing the armrest in your chair?”
“Is that why when I get up my pants and shirt sleeves are all wet? I just figured I spilled my beer.”
“And that’s another thing,” I ranted, “if you profess to be so fastidious with everything around here, how can you, a man who uses a fingernail brush everyday, justify wearing the shirt and pants you’re wearing today, wearing them tomorrow, the next day, and possibly the next, and then having the gall to tell me, someone who changes her clothes several times a day, that I’M the slob? That hurts, ya know.”
He surprised me when he sadly shook his head.
“Maybe….maybe I sometimes put you down, so that I can feel good about myself.”
I was stunned. It takes a real man to admit his insecurities. “Do you mean that?” I softly stuttered.
“Hell no! Just thought that’s what you wanted to hear. Quit bawlin’, will ya? If you don’t know by now that I don’t mean half the BS of what I tell ya, we’re never going to make it.”
“I certainly won’t miss our garage that’s cleaner than our house,” I sniffled. “Or those razor sharp creases that you iron into your pant, and when my leg barely touches them, it feels a blade grazing my shin.”
“How about if I only hug you while I’m wearing my boxing shorts? That sounds safe, doesn’t it?”
He always ropes me in with his sweet talk, but so far he’s wearing those should-be-registered-as-a-weapon ironed pants 24/7. Such is married life---our married life.
To read more of Karen’s previously published articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com
Tuesday, June 8. 2010
Hospitals Should Hire The Man, But Sometimes He Makes Me Sick
Sunday, May 9. 2010
Becoming a Lady
Not in a million years did my mom ever think that Id grow up and become a lady.
By definition, being a lady means not chewing with your mouth open, not airing your flatulence problem in public, or burping, not talking loudly, or fishing out wedgies, to name a few.
These are embarrassing facts, but nonetheless they are true.
You see, I, Nicole M. Gawel, was the epitome of the exact opposite of a lady. Growing up, my mom would be utterly embarrassed to take me out. We would go shopping and as I trailed behind her, I was little mind you, under 10 years old, picking some sort of something on my body.
One of my biggest fetishes was feeling carpets in stores. I liked textures, still do, but refrain from bending down to touch a germ-infested carpet. Thank God I grew out of both of those nasty phases.
There was a time when I knew my mom thought that she would never be able to train me into the lady I should eventually become. Its even safe to say that she had given up. Im not sure at what point I learned to grow out of these phases, but I did. And thank God I did because I dont think if I was still doing the childish things I once did I would have any friends, relatives or potential suitors within 100 feet of me.
For Mothers Day, I treated my mom to a tea party at a tea house in North Tonawanda. I was proper and I think, to some extent anyway, I proved to my mom that I was well in contention of becoming a proper lady. I would hope, though, to think my mom had already thought this of me upon entering high school.
Something else my mom would have never thought Id grow out of was probably the most awkward fashion stage of my life. Currently, I take my fashion to the highest level. It is one of THE most important things in my life, but as a third grader fashion was not on my top 10 list, it wasnt even in my top 100 list.
In third grade, I hate to admit this; I used to wear baggy shirts, 10 times too big with jeans. Gasp! When I reminisce and look back at photographs of my life I cringe when I get to that phase in my life. My grandma and papa used to call my sloppy and that was being kind. I looked like a ragamuffin.
I don't know at one point the transformation took place. Maybe all along I just had to wait to grow up in order to become a lady.
To this day I dont know how my mom could have stood being seen with me. I was a wreck. My mom must have really loved me. I salute my mom for putting up with my awkward, mean, bratty, etc., etc., etc., stages and loved me for me and I guess because she had to since she was my mother.
Thank you Mom for forming me into a lady that you are proud to share tea with and ask to go shopping with and not fear that I may pick a wedgie or touch the carpet any longer.
By definition, being a lady means not chewing with your mouth open, not airing your flatulence problem in public, or burping, not talking loudly, or fishing out wedgies, to name a few.
These are embarrassing facts, but nonetheless they are true.
You see, I, Nicole M. Gawel, was the epitome of the exact opposite of a lady. Growing up, my mom would be utterly embarrassed to take me out. We would go shopping and as I trailed behind her, I was little mind you, under 10 years old, picking some sort of something on my body.
One of my biggest fetishes was feeling carpets in stores. I liked textures, still do, but refrain from bending down to touch a germ-infested carpet. Thank God I grew out of both of those nasty phases.
There was a time when I knew my mom thought that she would never be able to train me into the lady I should eventually become. Its even safe to say that she had given up. Im not sure at what point I learned to grow out of these phases, but I did. And thank God I did because I dont think if I was still doing the childish things I once did I would have any friends, relatives or potential suitors within 100 feet of me.
For Mothers Day, I treated my mom to a tea party at a tea house in North Tonawanda. I was proper and I think, to some extent anyway, I proved to my mom that I was well in contention of becoming a proper lady. I would hope, though, to think my mom had already thought this of me upon entering high school.
Something else my mom would have never thought Id grow out of was probably the most awkward fashion stage of my life. Currently, I take my fashion to the highest level. It is one of THE most important things in my life, but as a third grader fashion was not on my top 10 list, it wasnt even in my top 100 list.
In third grade, I hate to admit this; I used to wear baggy shirts, 10 times too big with jeans. Gasp! When I reminisce and look back at photographs of my life I cringe when I get to that phase in my life. My grandma and papa used to call my sloppy and that was being kind. I looked like a ragamuffin.
I don't know at one point the transformation took place. Maybe all along I just had to wait to grow up in order to become a lady.
To this day I dont know how my mom could have stood being seen with me. I was a wreck. My mom must have really loved me. I salute my mom for putting up with my awkward, mean, bratty, etc., etc., etc., stages and loved me for me and I guess because she had to since she was my mother.
Thank you Mom for forming me into a lady that you are proud to share tea with and ask to go shopping with and not fear that I may pick a wedgie or touch the carpet any longer.
