I’m headed to NYC with a dear friend of mine tomorrow. I’ll just refer to her as Fashion Plate Barbie. She’s one of those women who always looks beautifully put-together – cute dresses, shoes and accessories, regardless of where she is. Like the ladies in the soap operas.
Seriously, why are those soap opera ladies always dressed up? Nikki Newman on the Young and the Restless is a homemaker, for shit’s sake. Why is she wearing cocktail dresses and dripping in diamonds in the middle of the day??
Anyway, back to Fashion Plate Barbie – sometimes she even wears really cool head scarves that make her look 60’s-style mod. I am in awe of her sense of style.
And then there’s me.
I’m more like Barbie’s sexless little sister, Skipper. My uniform is jeans and a sweater. (I was planning to wear sneakers to the city because the last time we went, I wore what I thought were ‘comfortable’ shoes – clogs with a low heel – and I wanted to amputate my feet with a butter knife by the end of the day.) I always feel a little under-dressed when I’m with her, but we always have a good time together. As much as I’m looking forward to spending time with her, I’m terrified that she’s going to want to go out on the town while we’re there for I lack the wardrobe, the shoes and (most importantly) the gumption for that.
Oh, I forgot to mention that we’re spending the night. How cool is that?? We’re staying at someplace called the Manhattan Club. She told me that one of her clients told her she could have it for a weekend. She must be the best realtor EVER! When she told me we were staying there I was all ‘oh, how nice!’ because a free stay is a free stay, but I didn’t know anything about it. Turns out it’s pretty swanky. Rethinking the sneakers.
Unfortunately, I’m rocking some pretty serious PMS right now. It shouldn’t be a problem, though, because my husband won’t be there to annoy me by doing things like vacuuming the counter when I’ve asked him to help me clean the house.
Honest to God.
We had a contractor scheduled to come to the house this morning to give us an estimate on some work we’re planning to have done. Jack was kind enough to volunteer to help me clean up the filth before he was scheduled to arrive. And by ‘volunteer to help me clean up’, I mean ‘not whine like a little girl when I asked him to help me clean up’.
I appreciate Jack’s help around the house. I really do. It’s just that sometimes he has difficulty with prioritization. For instance, early in our marriage he was a shift worker. On his days off, I’d give him a to-do list. If we’re being honest, it was more of a wish list. If we’re being brutally honest, it was more of a list of things I would be angry about when I got home. This is how it went:
Wipe down counters
Sweep kitchen floor
Ten hours later, I’d come home and find the dishwasher full of clean dishes, the sink full of dirty dishes, crumbs and other food particles all over the counters and muddy floors. Meanwhile, the junk drawer would be cleaned out, the silverware drawer would be completely reorganized and the pantry would be alphabetized.
And my head would explode.
Today, I asked him to vacuum while I dusted and he accidentally vacuumed the furniture polish I had just sprayed on the kitchen table. Seriously. He apologized and told me he had just vacuumed the kitchen counters and had gotten carried away. Deep breath.
About 10 minutes before the contractor was scheduled to arrive, I was running around like a maniac trying to hide dirty laundry and straighten up the bathroom. When I was in the bathroom, I noticed that the floor needed to be vacuumed, but I couldn’t find the vacuum cleaner…because Jack had decided it was necessary to completely dismantle it so he could clean each piece and wash the filter. True story.
Sometimes I think the makers of Midol have hired him on the sly to test the limits of their product. I’m pretty sure he’s telling them they need to develop bionic-strength formula, stat. I’m also guessing he’s even more excited about my trip than I am.