The garbage disposal isn’t working. I can’t find a reset button on it. The damned thing is plugged in firmly to the electrical receptacle and the circuit breaker is turned on. What next? What do I do? Who do I call?---a plumber or an electrician? I hate dilemmas like this! They make me feel so much like a---like a caregiver. And I’m saying that last word with a giant sized sneer. I don’t have a ‘go-to’ guy anymore. Cry, sob, sob. Feeling sorry for little old me. I don’t have a ‘honey-do’ list for Don. I don’t have a Mr. Fix-it to call on twenty-four hours a day. I don’t! I DON’T! I don’t want my husband’s stroke in my life anymore!
I get the tires rotated on the Blazer. I get that vehicle serviced faithfully on schedule. I go to the car wash. I pump my own gas. Jeez, I even unplug the toilet and fix its chain when it has PMS. I can think of a hundred ‘honey-do’ things woo-is-me took for granted in the past. Guy things are creeping up on me, boxing me in a corner. I feel them crawling all over my skin. Yuck! Get them off from me! Okay, so I was born in an era where we divided household chores up by the sexes. I can’t help that. There are certain guy things I just don’t like doing, and I don’t want to be the only ‘fix-it’ person in the house. Why do I have to be the mommy AND the daddy?
The really stupid part of this whole thing is that I rarely ever use that garbage disposal---I just run it for the dishwasher once in a while---and I have really fine screen baskets covering my kitchen sink drains. I don’t like smelly drains. I’m old school. I still wrap my garbage and put it in the trash. I’ve never owned a garbage disposal before we built this wheelchair accessible house. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks when they don't wanta get with the program. I’m going to be awake all night long worrying about the slimy little particles of food that the dishwasher is going to vomit into that garbage disposal. I’m going to worry about how that vomit is going to get out of the garbage disposal without those whirling blades to shred the crap out of it.
I found a tool that came with the garbage disposal, but there are no directions for what that tool is suppose to do. I want my daddy! DADDY! I know you’re an angel. Can’t you get a leave of absence and come hold my hand while I figure this out? I’m scared of garbage disposals. Don had one at his house years ago and I never ran that one either. They chew things. They spit up. They make scary noises and mangle forks. I can run a band saw and a circular saw. I can use a sander and I once took a welting class. I can drill holes and I can hammer. I used to owe a miniature lathe and I knew how to use it. I can plow snow and I knew how to run an asphalt compactor. I’ve even run a front-end loader and operated the gutter brushes on a street sweeper. But I DO NOT WANT TO FIX THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL! Is anyone listening? Why does it have to be so hard to live on the planet Aphasia? I want someone to talk to!
God, I’m crying. ©