I’m not one of those people who happily makes a list of their chores and then cheerfully sets about getting them done. I’m much more the “procrastinate as long as possible and then whine while you work” type.
I was thinking about this while I was out shoveling the latest offerings of snow off the driveway, bemoaning the fact that I’d rather be sipping a little tea with my feet up, when I heard someone singing. It was one of my younger neighbors, out shoveling her walks and singing as she went.
Now, I’m not entirely sure that the song was about how happy she was to be shoveling her afternoon away, but she was definitely spreading some music as she cleared the walks.
I felt somewhat bad. Perhaps I should be a little more cheerful when I’m out shoveling. After all, I can actually shovel and for some people that is an impossibility. It’s unlikely, however, that I’m going to croon “Winter Wonderland” while I am wielding the shovel. I’ll just get it done and get to my tea.
Other chores, however, are just as bad. What song could I possibly sing while cleaning my toilets, for instance? “Flushed from the Bathroom of my Heart” doesn’t really do it and then there’s always the danger that I’ll automatically try to sing into the toilet brush. That could only end in grief.
It may come as no surprise that I also don’t hum a tune when I mop floors, fold laundry or do the dishes. I’m just a grumpy soul when it comes to work. And as a due warning, I should admit that I am not only not singing, I may be dangerous to approach.
My husband came home from work one evening as I was folding the last of a day’s worth of laundry.
“So, how was your day? Doing a little laundry?” he sometimes makes the mistake of thinking I’ll be civil while I’m working.
“No, I just thought it would be fun to pull all of the socks out of the drawer and mismatch them,” I snarled, cramming some undershorts into a drawer.
“Well, that’s nice,” he has finally caught up with the game. “However, you should know that you are shoving your underpants into my t-shirt drawer. You might not find them there when you need them.” And he strolled out of the room, whistling a little bit of “I’ve Got You Under my Skin.”
It was probably the following morning when he discovered that I had rolled up two of his dress shirts and stuffed them in his shoes. Whistle while you’re working at that!
I’m going to work on my attitude about doing chores around the house. It’s just possible that that young girl singing while she shoveled has got me feeling a little guilty about my grouchy airs. It’s going to take a while, however, before I’m whistling while I work. In the meantime things like laundry and shoveling will simply have to be done in brooding silence.
© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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