Wildlife Encounters of the Married Kind

MAMMAL FACT SHEETS: 

HOUSEWORK MAN

Description

Housework Man (Homo soapiens) is highly variable in appearance, achieving an average height of 1.736m throughout its North American range. Its plumage is often abundant, becoming more so on the back and ears with age.

Habitat and Habits

The call of the Housework Man is a plaintive, whinging sound that has been likened to pay attention to me, pay attention to me. Housework Man is active for approximately twenty minutes per week, and is rarely observed outside the breeding season.

Man housework comprises a minor, yet valuable, component of his habitat.

Conservation

Housework Man is a delicate beast. The savvy woman recognizes that man housework - no matter its quality or quantity relative to her typical weekly output - must be lavishly praised, and diligently and reverently maintained for at least seven days following its completion. Anything less is liable to cause Housework Man offense and, given his finicky nature, may put Housework Man off his man housework indefinitely.
 

Brains, Delicious Brains

Wow, I haven't written in weeks. This is in direct conflict with at least one ("post to blog weekly"), and possibly three-and-a-half ("reinstate hobbies into life" and "maintain contact with outside world - not just at work!"), of my New Year's Resolutions. But as they say, you gotta break some eggs if you wanna make an omelet.

Which reminds me, I also Resolved to try eating vegan this year, but discovered that I'm severely allergic to soy products. Otherwise I'd be "breaking" tofu to be making an "omelet", which admittedly doesn't flow (not to mention taste) quite as well. Which also reminds me, if you've never had hives over 99% of your body (my eyelids and toenails were spared), you just haven't lived. I had to use Lamaze breathing to make it through a project meeting without itching my ass.

But back to that omelet: what kind of omelet could possibly be as important to me as your mental health breaks and/or late-night breastfeeding reading, dear Minions? Not much of an omelet at all, it turns out. In truth, I've been playing Plants vs. Zombies. Obsessively. Maybe even compulsively. (And, by DHs account at least, disorder-edly.) I was forced to pitch all my regularly-scheduled Resolutions out the window in order to implement an Emergency Resolution to stop playing Plants vs. Zombies, cold-turkey. Just when I was totally on track to "lose fifty pounds" and "win the lotto" this year! Dang.

However, thanks to the fact that humans have invented numerous calendar systems throughout history - and assuming my Emergency Resolution has been successful by that time - I can still make a fresh start in the lunar new year. According to my calculations, if I really work at it I should be thin and rich... just in time for the end of the world in 2012.

Also dang. I think I'll go water my Zen Garden awhile and ponder my next move.

Technologically Unvanced

I appreciate technology. I'm happy that I can send my thoughts out into the blogosphere, by the light of a CFB, whilst my dishwasher makes sounds generally only made by vessels about to enter into orbit. I'm happy that someone invented the French press; that warm(ish) water comes out of my taps; and that soft-serve ice cream exists in harmony with stretch fabrics.

But aside from the most basic forms of technology - I can work a garlic press pretty good - I have to admit to a certain lack of finesse. For instance, when we bought a new car about a year ago, I couldn't get the trunk to open. The button says 'HOLD', which I took to be a hoity-toity term for the trunk. Turns out it means... uh... 'hold'. The verb. For months I tried to 'press' (verb) the button in order to gain entry into the 'hold' (noun).

And when I went to buy Small Fry a play phone so he would stop pestering me for the real one all the time, I grabbed the first thing I found that was rectangular in shape and had number buttons. Having not owned a television set for nearly a decade, I only discovered my mistake when Medium Fry wondered aloud to Small Fry why mommy kept talking to the remote.

AND when I finally decided to invest in one of those new-fangled "mobile telephones" a couple of weeks ago... actually, my ego is still pretty tender from the humiliation of it. Maybe another day. But seriously, what right did that young whippersnapper have to make me feel like such a complete freak of nature? Hasn't anyone told him someone's first time should be gentle? And why IS the "on" button camouflaged like that, anyways?

So I'm a dinosaur. So sue me. You know, there's a very good reason why young people can pick up new techy shtuff quicker than cat hair on a clean pair of pants: their brains are mostly empty. It's like a brand-new computer - lots of room. Works real good. Until, that is, it hits a certain point at which it becomes so bogged down with school/ activity/ vaccination/ poop schedules, what food groups have been consumed this week, and the words to Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, that any new input is likely to cause a complete system meltdown.

Sadly, friends, I've reached that point. If only I could free up some disk space, surely I could rule the world.