As I approach the high speed end of that slippery slope toward my seventy-fifth birthday (July 29, 2013), I plan on becoming a high-maintenance chick. Not only do I expect to be coddled, catered to and pampered, but my overly stiff joints and my girth, are going to force me into getting pedicures. Now, if I get a pedicure, should I not also have a manicure? It would be a crying shame for my feet to look better than my hands. While I'm at it, I had better get more frequent hairstyles. It has probably been three years since someone other than myself touched my "coif".
Plus, I'm having a really hard time keeping up with housework these days. I remember the olden days when as a single parent I worked forty to sixty-five hours per week. I did the cleaning, yard work and ran errands in my spare time. Sadly, my home looked better then than it does now. In one of those blanked if you do, blanked if you don't situations, leaving it dirty aggravates my allergy to dust. Think what that's like when I move the dust cloth around and stir it up.
My balance problem, caused by my faulty Eustachian tube, which swells shut around dust and smoke, caused me to have to hire help with yard work about three years back. I willingly sacrifice whatever small luxury, like food, that I would buy with the $20 I pay the man who weed eats the yard (as well as does his laundry, while he raids my fridge). He is a son.
Do you remember those "How to tell you are old" e-mails that were so popular before Facebook? One of my favorites was "Remember when you cleaned three rooms in one day and now it takes three days just to clean one?" Today, I cleaned nothing. Does anyone know how much Merry Maids would charge for four rooms and a bath? Better still, do you know how I can wring the funds for just one cleanup a month of out my income? Yeah, yeah, I've heard about elderly cleaning services sponsored by the government, but I believe you have to be ill to qualify for those. Besides, I'd have to get over a serious aversion to having strangers in my home. I would probably spend as much time going around afterward putting the décor in its proper place.
But you think this is bad? My ex (Phyllis Diller called hers Fang, how about I use Dang?) was one of those people persons who preferred being around a crowd. Entertaining was one of his "things". When I started my doctoral program it was like a Special United Nations Summit negotiating him down to one dinner or party per month. Dang never recovered from the shock. Getting his commitment to help with preparations was easy by comparison.
Prior to this, the preparations required for entertaining his colleagues, a boss or out-of-town guests seemed endless. Usually there was a room that needed painting. Isn't there always? After I completed this, I shopped for curtains, etc. and made a major grocery store run. The day of the event, I cleaned the entire house -- eight rooms, one and three quarter baths -- including scrubbing all the vinyl and tile floors. Who would need help with this, you ask?
When the house was clean and the three kids bathed and dressed as well as dinner in the oven, it was my turn. You do understand that however tired a Leave it to Beaver-era housewife got, she was supposed to look like she stepped from the pages of Vogue with a friendly, welcoming smile for the guests. I won't put you through the usual critique of my performance once it was over. Well, maybe a little. It included stuff like I should have sat up straighter and I should "couch" my opinions in a manner he never used. Oh, yes, I should get my God-given curly hair straightened so it would be neat and smooth. (And Southern Baptists are supposed to stick together until death do us part. Oh, yes, we are not allowed to hasten his death, either).
But all humor aside, when the fantasies are over and reality sets in, I realize that handicapped as age has made me, I'm still better off than many. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, a dilapidated vehicle to drive and I don't have to take care of some high-maintenance dude any more. Take that and lump it Dang!
No comments:
Post a Comment