Ever since I moved into Bob and Kate's* house (a month ago), I have been familiarizing myself with the habits, likes and dislikes of these fine people who are putting me up for free for an indefinite period of time. (If you are unfamiliar with the circumstances that brought me to Bob and Kate's Asylum for Broke, Nomadic, Middle-Aged Women, you were not reading my other blog and I can't direct you there because then there would be a discernible relationship between that blog and this one and then everything would be ruined and I would have to start a whole other new blog. Anyone curious about the circumstances that would reduce a 38 year old independent, successful woman to a broke, nomadic, heavily medicated house pet is welcome to email said house pet (me) for a 10 sentence synopsis of the last two years of my life. It's no trouble. Really).
Let me start over.
The idea was I would live here for some number of months, probably years, and in exchange for a rent-free room on the third floor, I would help them sort through their accumulated forty years worth of possessions in preparation for their move to a smaller house. (Their current house is huge).
As with all good things that seem simple and straightforward, this arrangement is turning out to be the opposite of simple and straightforward. I am discovering because both Bob and Kate are well into their seventies and one of them has serious health problems, I can't go up or down the stairs without paying what I call "the toll."
The toll is measured in minutes and fluctuates wildly. On good days, the toll is a ten minute shoulder massage. Other days it is what I refer to as a full treatment: shoulder massage, hot wash cloth on face and neck to "improve complexion," massaging lotion into feet, ankles and legs (up to the knee) followed by stretching out and massaging of arms, followed by 10 minutes of head scratching. The toll is thusly forty minutes.
Now, if I happen to be engaged in the full treatment, and the phone rings or someone comes to the door, I have to get the phone or the door and then start the full treatment over again. (I don't know - don't ask).
If you are wondering what the other half of this couple is doing while I am performing these tasks, it is this: getting relief from performing them his (or her) self, as that is just what he (or she) would be doing if I was not there to do it. (I have not yet discerned whether he (or she) would tell the other half of this couple to shove it if I were not around to be a witness).
Lest I sound like an ungrateful, spoiled child, let me assure you that I mind all this very little but for one thing: time. I am still teaching ten classes. I am still having to spend time sorting through their things. And the toll, on the very worst of days, stretches into hours.
In short, I have less control of my time than ever before. (One of the other reasons I had to flee the old blog address was that if I did get ten minutes to myself to blog, I could write about any of this).
If I decide to go out to the store for a bottle of diet soda (bad, bad, bad, I know), I have to budget for up to three hours of toll - and if I am lucky, the whole operation involves nothing harder than a ten minute shoulder massage.
But then when I get home with my bottle of diet soda, both members of the duo comment on the fact that I just wasted $1.79 on a bottle of soda when I could have just asked them for soda because they always keep it around the house.
Tune in tomorrow if you don't understand why I wouldn't drink their soda instead of going out and getting my own.
Oh wait. Come back no matter what. Tomorrow I might post something funny and I don't want us to miss it.
* I can never reveal the real names or any identifying characteristics of these people until, say, 100 years after their deaths. Obviously, I have to protect their privacy, but more important, I have to keep them and myself anonymous so as to avoid the necessity of creating yet another blog. Good lord, I hated to do that. So I don't have to do it again, please play along. Thank you.
5 comments:
Oh man. Oh wow. I would be so awful at that. I would sigh and roll my eyes and make tsk tsking noises and speak often of my TEN CLASSES THAT I'M TEACHING. I have no words of wisdom or comfort. You are a better person that I am...
Wait, you give massages and rub lotion? Want to come live here in Florida for free?
For a second there, I thought the toll was the 70 year old massaging you, and I was trying to decide if that was a bad deal or not.
Then I read on.
Oh my. I would hate that so muc and I have been in situations like that, so I know how hard it is. Hugs.
Oh my, dear. I know I won't ever know for sure since you are back to the whole anonymity thing, but you must, must, must write a book and sell millions of copies. Are you? Have you? Once you are a rich, famous author you can hire people to scratch YOUR head!
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