What a difference one person makes. A while back, I listed the pros and cons of living alone and have since enjoyed some time to reflect. Again, ending on a high note.
- There is no one to rub my back for two damn minutes. Do you know how hard it is to train a five year-old to apply pressure in just the right spot?
- Dovetailing on the back rub – sunscreen. How the hell am I supposed to reach all the way back there? A five-year old just phones it in. Subsequently I will get skin cancer on one narrow stripe between my shoulder blades.
- I’m on my own when it comes time to flip the mattress. I can do it, but it’s not pretty.
- There is no one to check the basement during a rainstorm or after a nightmare. It’s all me. I end up just laying there in total denial until I rationalize myself back to sleep. The basement hasn’t flooded the last six times it rained, why would it now? The homicidal maniac/zombie would have made more noise by now; maybe it’s just my time.
- Every single light bulb burns out during approximately the same week. And most require the assistance of a chair.
- I hired out the grass cutting. For seriously cheap. Nothing better than coming home to a job well done without any “favors,” if you get my drift.
- Less methane in the house. I will leave it at that.
- The girls outnumber the boys in this house so it doesn’t matter where the glitter ends up. On the couch, on the doorknob, on my eyelid.
- Have since figured out how to apply sunscreen to my own back. I put it on the back of my hands and contort my arms into reverse namaste and start flapping around. I guess I could buy the spray-on kind now that I think about it.
He got the Netflix account and the Rolling Stone subscription. I got the iMac, the fondue pot and a good therapist. Who’s the winner now, suckers.