Necessary Evil

I was on the phone the other day with my dear friend Sarah (the one I've never met...more on that in another post) and somehow we got on the topic of chores.  Sounds silly, doesn't it?  Two adult women discussing chores---and not in the "what we delegate to our kids to help teach them responsibility and cooperation" kind of way.  It was in the "things I have to do but really can't stand* doing" (*because we don't say hate!) way.

We agreed that some chores are necessary evil--for no real good reason.  For example; going to the dry cleaners.  Yeah...what's so hard about that?  Nothing.  Yet I would sooner poke myself in the forehead over and over with a plastic fork than stop at the dry cleaners.  Pick up or drop off, it makes no difference.  Both tasks are equally unpleasant to me.  Our dry cleaner is super nice--they say they love me (and all of their customers, so there's that).  Friendly, kind, prompt.  Helpful, even.  Yet I put off that task with all that I have, thus creating Mount Saint Drycleaning in my closet and forcing me to avoid face the inevitable.  Then it's a $1,748,394,303 dry cleaning bill and the cycle of loath starts all over again.

Task #2 that has more than earned the label "chore" is.....going to the post office.  Once again.  Kind people.  Great service.  Super convenient to our home.  Not a difficult task.  And still, I look at the stack of bills (yes, I still pay them the old fashioned way.  So!?) and letters (yes, I do write to people--who wants a mailbox filled only with bills and Kmart circulars?), upper right hand corner of the envelops all naked and lonely.  Looking for the face of Elvis or an American flag to adorn it so it can be on its merry way to Chicago or Dallas or wherever else.  I turn to Mark.  I don't even need to say anything anymore; he simply takes the stack, rolls his eyes and they're gone.  Poof!  Magically stamped and in the mail.  

Don't even get me started on pumping gas!  I'm not the girly girl who doesn't like to get dirty.  That's not the issue.  Fumes aside, getting gas is a game I simply do not enjoy playing.  The jockeying for position at the pumps, waiting behind that inconsiderate person who pumps gas and leaves his car there, still connected to the pump after he's done, while he goes inside to buy Bugles and Red Bull.  Yeah--move your car, Ace!  

And is it only me, or do you find that the only pumps that are free are the ones on the opposite side of your tank, causing you to do a 345 point turn in the gas station parking lot (Mr. Bugles and Red Bull is back now, watching you and totally judging your ability to do this without hitting anything) to get there?  And somehow, in the middle of said 345 point turn, some other inconsiderate dolt in a puke green Fiat has swooped in and taken your spot at the pump.  You shoot them a nasty look, they shrug and climb awkwardly out of a too small (and too uncool) car that seemed like a good purchase...at the time.  

More than once, I've abandoned the whole scene, come home and reported, as I walk up the steps into the house, "I've gotta go out and get gas after dinner."  And I know, because he's a Saint, Mark will take my car and do it for me.  And maybe even bring back a Red Bull.**

So, I say, I'll wash the windows.  I'll tackle the toilets.  I'll clean the kitchen (actually, my favorite job!) and I'll do load after load of laundry.  But the cleaners, gas and stamps?  Not happenin'...at least not without a lot of grumbling!  What's on your "necessary evil" list of chores?





**editorial license; author has never (will never) consumed a Red Bull thank you very much!