Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Secret to Getting Some is Doing the Laundry. (Yep, it's that easy.)

Four loads of laundry sat waiting for me on the living room couch. Already washed, already dried, yet someone needed to fold them. And that person would be me.

At this point in the evening I was exhausted and completely overwhelmed. We'd been going nonstop for the last couple weeks -- work, more work, school projects, doctor appointments, surgery, a puking cat, a car that leaks oil, the orthodontist, taxes, rehearsals, performances --- not to mention trying to keep up on the everyday things, like eating, showering, laundry, dishes, and making sure teeth got brushed before bedtime.

I wanted to cry. My back hurt. My head hurt. I just wanted to fall into bed and sleep for days..... but these clothes weren't going to fold themselves and if I waited too long I'd be forced to iron. (Who am I kidding? Everyone knows I'd just toss them back in the wash for a do-over.)

I picked up the first of three million trillion stupid articles of clothing.

"Oh. You're home!" In walked Big V.

"Yep."

"I thought I heard you, I was just watching this really good episode of CSI in the bedroom."

Jerk, I thought. You could have folded at least two of these loads while watching TV. I hope your neck gets a crick in it from watching TV in bed. I kept folding.

"So..... are you coming to bed soon?"

"Not until all these clothes are folded."

"Oh. Well, uh, you know.... you've been gone a lot lately and it's, uh, been... uh, awhile... you know."

I kept folding.

He sat down on the chair opposite me.

"So, when you're done folding.... do you think.... then.... uh..... we could.... uh...."

What is it about guys? It used to be they had to work at it, you know. Buy a plethora of fruity alcoholic drinks and dance for a couple hours, at the very least. Or massage our feet, our back. Now it's just another item on a long list of things To Do. I'm almost 40. You know what turns me on? Coming home to a clean house. Having the litter box already emptied and the dishes put away and laundry folded. Lightening my load - that turns me on!

"Yes, V. When I get done folding the mountain of clothes that is piled up before me, then I promise to take a few moments to evaluate whether or not I have enough energy to entertain you."

.... and then he sat and stared at me while I proceeded to fold clothes .....

Now, I don't know about you, but it took every ounce of energy not to kick him in his teeth. Which I totally could have because remember, he was sitting down and I was still standing. I wouldn't have even needed to stretch or anything.

Cripes! Think of the money you're saving now that you're no longer plying me with drinks! The Wooing Factor is at an all-time low: you don't even have to get dressed up. No more picking me up at a specified time - you don't even have to open a door! Scrub the bathroom, wipe down the kitchen counters and I'm tearing your clothes off - it really is that simple!


I decided to come at it from a different angle:

"Hey, when you were younger, and you had to cut the lawn before you went to your friend's house to play, would you have rather just been left alone to cut the lawn, have people sit and stare at you while you were cutting the lawn, or have people help you cut the lawn so you could get done faster?"

He stared up at me. "I never had to cut the lawn. My dad did it."

grrrr.... Come on, guys! That picture of the man vacuuming labeled 'Women's Porn' is actually not that far off the mark at all. Try it! It really does works! When I see you making a concerted effort to help me out and take some of the burden off my back, you get "rewarded." I realize you might not think mopping the kitchen floor is a priority, but it's hard to feel sexy when my foot keeps getting stuck in strawberry jam. To me, a clean, sparkling floor is the equivalent of slipping on a brand new silk dress. A clean house is sexy.  

I folded a few more articles of clothing.

"Alright," I tried again. "Let's say you were at basketball practice and you got in trouble for something and the coach made you run laps. That would suck, right?"

"Well, yeah." He picked up the cat and started petting it.

"Well, let's say that all the other people on your team just sat and stared at you while you were running. Lap after lap.... they just sat there....  and stared.... at you.... doing all that work.... by yourself....."

*crickets*

"Oh. You're talking about the laundry, aren't you?"

"Yep."

And to my amazement Big V stood up and started folding with me!

Then, "so... when we're finished with this, we're gonna - you know...."

Monday, April 16, 2012

The One in Which I Explain The Rules For Telling a Girl She's Got Something in Her Teeth

Once, when I was young and cute and slim enough to wear cute, frilly frocks, I went out on a date with a really cute guy. I felt really mature and adult-like because we were going to lunch. And only really mature people went to lunch. Therefore, I was mature. And also smoking hot in my cute little outfit with my toes nicely painted and the right amount of sun-kissed glow to my skin.

And lunch was fabulous. We went to Big Apple Bagels (which, looking back on things wasn't as grown-up and mature as I originally thought). The point is, he was funny and charming and I was cute and witty and we sat talking and laughing, me flirting in ridiculous proportions, long after we finished our food. Then I excused myself to go to the bathroom (because I've always had a small bladder).

And when I checked myself in the mirror I realized I had a ginormous-sized black seed stuck in between my teeth in probably the most obvious and unattractive location ever.

And I was horrified. Not because I had a seed stuck in my teeth. Hell, that happens to everyone. But because I just sat there for the past twenty minutes flashing said seed right in the face of someone who continually chose not to tell me. Needless to say, I never went out with him again, even though he drove a convertible. Because if a guy can't be upfront about something stuck in your teeth, how is he ever going to handle the big stuff?

Now, I know someone is going to say he probably just didn't know how to tell you and I call bullshit. Because most guys I know have absolutely no filter whatsoever and can enter a funeral luncheon full of your mourning family and yell out, "it smells like rotten feet in here!" Trust me; they know how to say there's something wrong with another person, they just don't know when or how to say it in a socially acceptable manner.

So, in an effort to help along my fellow man, I'm willing to share with you this little cheat sheet. (Feel free to take it out on all your dates.)

(A) Is it permanent? (i.e., giant mole, birthmark, scar, bald patch) If yes, keep your mouth shut. It's not like she can do anything about it anyway. You say something now, the poor girl is going to start crying hysterically and will tell all her friends. Thanks to today's social media, you'll be blacklisted from the female market in approximately 28.7 seconds from at least six different counties. If it's not permanent (i.e., long black chin hair, booger, eye crusties, something stuck in between teeth), then move to (B).

(B) Can something be done about it RIGHT NOW? If yes, go ahead and politely mention it. Say something quiet and to the side, like, I'm sorry, but you have something on your nose. Do not say: "OH GROSS! THAT'S FREAKING DISGUSTING! YOU'VE GOT THIS GIANT RUBBERY PIECE OF SNOT HANGING OUT YOUR NOSE HOLE!"

However - and this is where it gets tricky - let's say it is something that can be easily remedied, however she doesn't have the tools to fix it right now. I'm thinking of that long black chin hair; what good is it to point it out moments before you go hiking with nary a tweezer for plucking? Just shut your pie hole until you get home. And then - and this is super important - pretend you just noticed it, just this very second. Do not tell the poor soul that you noticed three hours ago but knew she couldn't do anything about it, so you decided to be a swell guy and not say anything because you didn't want to upset her. Because you will upset her. Trust me. You'll come out looking like a schmuck. Because if you saw it, then surely someone else did, too, and you're the jerk who didn't say anything.

Follow this advice my friend, and you'll be okay. Unless you don't pay for lunch. Then you're just some cheap jerk that doesn't deserve a second date. (You ask her out on a date - you pay. When you start going out more often you can split the bill or she can treat you. But you never, ever ask a girl on a date and then not pay. I'll be covering those rules at a later date.)