I Need a Man!

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. ©

Jean Riva

Sink Photo: Wikimedia Commons

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Life is Perfect Even When it's Not

At the dentist office today, I took my wheelchair bound husband, Don, to the restroom. It’s a good one with grab bars situated so that he---with my help---can stand up to pee. But first we had to get him out of his coat. Its nylon and is so slippery it would be like holding on to slime, should I have to catch him in a fall. That task accomplished, I got Don’s pants down and held his shirt out of the way while both of us stood side by side waiting for the flow to start. It didn’t. So, I’m singing game show tunes in my head---the kind they play while a contestant is trying to come up with an answer while the clock ticks away. For some reason the wait seemed longer than usual which made me think of our friend who has a ‘shy bladder.’ He can’t pee if someone else is in the room.

“Ron better hope,” I said to Don, “that he never needs help peeing.” Don got the humor in that statement which gave us both the giggles. We were giggling and laughing so hard by the time the pee stream hit the bowl, it’s a wonder it found its mark and didn’t cover our shoes instead. The restroom is just a few feet from the receptionist’s desk and heaven knows what she was thought we were doing in there. The look on her face when we came out was priceless. She wanted to ask. Oh boy, did she want to ask but her phoo-phoo manners wouldn’t let her.

As I sat in the waiting room while Don got his teeth cleaned, I picked up an old copy of Real Simple magazine. On the first page I turned to was a Ralph Lauren double-page layout for Polo Black, a men’s fragrance that featured a hot model. And I do mean sexy as in take-off-your-clothes-and-let-me-see-the-rest-of-you sexy! I looked at him, and then around the room trying to figure out if the Thought Police was present. I decided that a dentist’s waiting room was not a good place to have a virtual organism, so I quick turned the page. Thanks goodness, the next page was a double-page layout for a Chevy. Cool. Keep those cars a selling, we need their pension money. I flipped through a few more pages and came to an ad for Starbucks coffee liqueur which was exactly what I needed after lusting after the Ralph Lauren guy. I’ve never smoked but that guy had me reaching into my purse for a pack of cigarettes.

By now I was beginning to think that the Real Simple magazine was nothing but advertisements. Duh, aren’t most of them? And sure enough, the next page was a double-page layout for American Express featuring Ellen DeGeneres. She says in the ad that her life is perfect, even when it’s not. Wow, what a nice thing to be able to say about your life! I think I actually know what she means.

Finally, I came across a few articles in the magazine. ‘What’s the Craziest Thing you ever did for Love?’ was the title of one article, and there were some notable answers like: “take skydiving lesson,” “move into a log cabin built in the 1800,” and “eloped 36 days after meeting someone.” Another article was titled, ‘Portrait of a Family.’ “There is humor in this,” I thought about finding these two articles, “because my family portrait and the craziest thing I ever did for love could be one and the same.” Yup, I’m getting out the oils and easel and painting a portrait of Don and myself. We’ll be standing side by side, leaning over a toilet bowl, expectantly looking down and hoping that neither one of us ends up with pee our shoes. Love doesn’t get much crazier than that, does it?

Jean Riva ©

Postcard: Park Kiss, circa 1900