On Being Helpless

I hadn't intended to Blog right now.  I was just casually browsing. But I notice some comments on my last piece and feel bound to reply.

Ok, so you all know I couldn't move my Blog myself!  Obviously I haven't fooled anyone by my casual, 'I can do anything' front that I present to the world.  However I can, and do!, do cultivate friends who can supply the talents I lack, so it was eeesy-peesy!  I hung around (I lay on the bed actually, the pc is in my bedroom) looking intellectual while a kind angel did the business and an other (younger) kind angel made sure that it was done properly.  If only I knew my password I could probably put in an appropriate graphic.  Angel, please note this deficiency....

So, dear readers of my Blog, you must all learn to delegate -particularly the jobs you don't like.  I mean, I used to be able to change a wheel on the car - but not any more!  Oh no.  I will wait forever for a truly capable (preferably) man to come along.  They do things so well, men.  They are strong, and all-knowing about things that need lifting and hammering and fixing.  Things that dirty ones hands, or get ones hair blown round by the wind and rain.  They bring so much joy to my life, men.

My sons learnt at an early age that their mother knew practically nothing about anything - never knew what was bin day, how to answer questions in maths, remember dates in history, put air in tyres, petrol in tank, work the lawn-mower - that kind of thing.  Putting creases in their jeans made them realise that I couldn't be trusted with an iron, and constant absences (usually in book shops) ensured that at an early age they learned to cook.  My sleeping habits (I sleep like the dead, can't be woken) taught babies how to get through the night without feeds quite quickly and gave them a good reason not to ring me for a lift home when they were old enough to visit hostelries  in other places and missed their lift, fell in the bushes etc - you know how it is.

One draw-back to this independence that I gifted them, was that they didn't really have a system about doing things.  But then, that's what wives are for, isn't it, to teach them to do it their way.  It prevents 'domestics' about whether Mother was a better cook, gardener, ironer etc than wife, so they should really thank me more for my kindness to them in their early years.