Day #28 - Humiliation Chronicles - The Blister

This is for my Yankee Aunt who thinks I am a Southern Belle. I am not a Southern Belle, but I was raised a lady. Ladies in my family where not allowed to do yard work. That was the men’s work and even when I begged and pleaded with my mother to let me mow one tiny section of our yard, the answer was a firm no. Instead, I was forced to wash and dry dishes, break beans, iron and clean the toilets. Southern Belles do not clean toilets.

Because I was denied the chance to mow while growing up, you can only imagine my excitement when I found out I would be totally responsible for nearly three acres of yard mowing for an entire summer. MDH, in April of 2004, began preparing for major back surgery. MDH is a forward thinking fellow and envisioned what the summer held for me, so with warm thoughts toward my well-being, he bought a brand new lawn mower. A lawn mower that a delicate lady could handle. One without gear changing and gadget switches. One with a cushioned seat and iced tea cup holder. One with an umbrella attachment so that his delicate fair skinned maiden would not get premature age spots and one with a little fan to keep my glistening, dewy skin cool. In other words, a lawn mower for a wuss.

Big C and I were given several “lessons” on the art of lawn mowing. Actually, Big C had already been mowing for several summers with a manly mower. His job that particular summer was trim work while I did the hard part. And let me just say that driving that rumbling loud beast was hard. I had a blister on my index finger all summer long from turning the steering wheel! Many people came from far and near to see that blister, to marvel at its site, to stare in awe at the blister’s grandeur. It was photographed. Measurements were taken and recorded in journals. For weeks, it was the hottest news in our town. But, as “they” say, all great things must come to and end and as the summer turned to fall in 2004, MDH recovered and reclaimed his new lawn mower. The blister healed, although there is a little scar and if I point my index finger just right, it hurts.

Thanks for reading, a blistered Rosie.

Day #21 – The Humiliation Chronicles – Taking Out The Trash

Apparently, in my life there are those who want me to stand naked and humiliated in front of the world. (See comments from day #20) To humor them in their boring little worlds I shall now write “The Humiliation Chronicles.”

In the summer of 2004, MDH had to have major back surgery. Due to a work related injury two years prior, his spinal column bone was pressing against the nerves in his back causing his legs to hurt and tingle. He now lives with a seven-inch scar down his back, but he does not hurt anymore. God guided the surgeon’s hand with skill.

During the six months MDH was home and under my watchful care, it is sufficient to say I had to do some household chores that he “normally” did. That is not to say we divide chores in our house, but couples do settle into habits that become his/her responsibilities and in this case taking out the trash had become a “his” job. I can honestly say that in the eighteen years we had been married I had never had to bundle up the trash and take it to the curb for the garbage man to pick-up. MDH, always the gentleman, did not want his lovely bride dragging the trash to the curb. According to everyone, this is interpreted as being SPOILED! Nevertheless, being the submissive wife I am, I would not hear of MDH getting the trash together on trash day in his fragile condition and took care of the situation. I was so proud of myself. I had taken out the trash! All by myself, sort of.

It was not until friend breakfast one Friday that the reality of what I actually did surfaced. You see, I meet a couple of girlfriends every Friday morning for breakfast. We call it “friend breakfast” but in reality, it is cheap therapy. We laugh, cry, eat, confess, pray and support one another. God bless them, they also keep me humble. On this particular Friday, I came strutting into the restaurant prepared to tell the girls what I had done. Here are the details: “You will be proud to know I took out the garbage. Yes, I actually took out the garbage! Well, the boys emptied the little trash cans into the big can. Then Big C tied the kitchen trash together. I helped him carry the bags to the garage. He put the bags into the trunk of my car and we drove them down the driveway and Big C set them out on the curb.” As I was telling this story, my “friends” began smiling, then giggling, then laughing. Hard! It was not until they were rolling in the restaurant floor in hysterics that the truth became clear to me. I had not physically taken out the garbage. Big C had done all the work, but in my mind, I had. How humiliating! That was four summers ago and everyone still throws this in my face every time we get together. “I am NOT spoiled!” I say as I stomp my foot and pout, but I have not taken out the garbage since that incident.

Coming soon – The Humiliation Chronicles - Blisters.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.