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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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December 2005 / January 2006 Contest Results |
Help
Around The House
By Cindy Dwyer
Guilford, CT
My friend was
upset after being reprimanded for being consistently late for work.
Although I wanted to console her, it wasn’t easy. Let’s put it this way:
She’s a twin, and anyone who knows her is not surprised her sister was
born first.
“I think people
have to remember that I am single. I do not have the benefit of having a
husband and two kids to help out, like you do,” she said. “If something
goes wrong, like my furnace explodes or my car breaks down, I have to
take care of it myself. There is no one to help me.”
I could only
blink in response.
Although I was quite certain her furnace had never actually exploded, in
a way she did have a point. One cold morning as I was scraping the ice
off my windshield, the driver’s side wiper fell off in my hand. Not just
the rubber part, the entire arm itself had broken off. Stunned, I stood
there stupidly, just staring at it.
Without a word,
my husband handed his keys to me and took the wiper blade in exchange. I
kissed him goodbye and we both drove off to work. When I got home that
night, my car was fixed and waiting for me in the driveway. Magically,
it had even gotten an oil change and a full tank of gas. And, likewise,
the dirty clothes Rick puts in –- or at least near -– the hamper
magically wash and dry themselves and end up folded neatly, back in his
drawers. Or, at least that is how it appears to him.
But, what my friend is forgetting is that Rick would have half as many
car problems and I would have a lot less laundry if we weren’t married.
And that is before you factor in the kids. So, spring forward to an
early morning in my house a few weeks later.
My five-year-old daughter stood on the very top step of our two-story
high spiral staircase and exclaimed, “Mommy, my tummy doesn’t feel so
good,” only a split second before it erupted. I ran up behind her and
mentally formed my action plan. The mess was contained to only the very
top steps. I could step carefully around them, run to the kitchen to
grab paper towels and a container, and, hopefully, sprint back up before
anything more awful happened.
And then, something more awful happened.
Now there was a cascade sliming its way down the stairs. There was no
way I could avoid stepping in it. Thinking that being a parent couldn’t
possibly get any worse than this, I left Lia with Rick and made a run
for it.
With each step, slimy goo squished beneath my bare feet. Even though the
handrail was also covered, I was forced to hold it for fear of slipping
on the stairs. Now, I knew in my heart that Lia did not plan what
happened next, but it was hard not to be at least a little suspicious.
She timed it perfectly. I was directly below her on the stairs when I
realized that it could, indeed, get worse. In fact, it got worse all
over the top of my head.
We tossed Lia into the tub and began to clean. As the sun rose over the
horizon, we realized the full extent of the disaster. After splashing
onto the several upper most stairs, it had then exploded in a 360-degree
arc like some biohazardous weapon of mass destruction. It took both of
us over an hour to clean the mess.
If Rick hadn’t
been home to help, I would have posted a “For Sale As Is” sign on the
front lawn and just driven away. The entire time I still had remnants of
last night’s dinner in my hair and couldn’t help but think that if my
friend, who was undoubtedly still clean and fast asleep in her bed, had
a family who gave her this kind of help, not only would she not make it
into work on time, she would never make it into work at all.
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