filed in Daily Life, Sex and Dating
Things I Can’t Do Myself
(Hint: It’s not drinking a martini. That, I can do well.)
I can’t move heavy things.
My back goes out. I injured it when I was 30, on a Vespa with David, bouncing around the hills of San Francisco. The jostling hurt the curves of my spine. I liked the adventure of riding on the back of his pale blue bike, going through tunnels with the lights off. I liked the sex that made me flutter and gasp. We had fun. But it left a permanent imprint on my body. The rest of me bounced back.
I can’t put up shelves.
I am worthless with a hammer and nail. If I concentrate really hard, and slow myself down, at best, I can hang a small painting. But it takes me ten times longer than most people. And the work is sloppy even though I don’t want it to be. I can’t control the tools.
Certain jars are impossible for me to open.
Through trial and error, I’ve discovered that if I puncture a hole in the lid with a sharp tip, I’m able to open it. But then I have to weigh whether it’s worth spoiling the rest of the jar’s contents, like say, for one olive in my martini. That might be worth it.
About a year ago, I brought out some major artillery for a giant jug of vodka. For the life of me, I could not get that lid pried loose. And since I have trouble with these kinds of things to begin with, I assumed the difficulty was with me. This was a full, big bottle, and so a good example of my not wanting to spoil the entire contents just for one drink, but the task exacerbated my anxiety to such a degree that I considered it.
Then I remembered there was a liter of Maker’s Mark in the house that I had bought for a pecan pie recipe, so I withdrew the sharp objects and poured myself a Maker’s Mark on the rocks instead. The next time someone dropped by the house for a martini, I was relieved to learn that the problem opening the vodka bottle was due to a faulty lid, and had nothing to do with me, which was a relief, after all.
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A reader commented on our blog about the ambivalence of being single–how it’s great being single, but honestly, sometimes there are things that you just can’t or don’t do well, and that’s when it’s nice to have an extra set of hands at your beck and call. (My co-blogger Lisa experienced this when she dug her car out of a Kentucky snowstorm this winter.)
But our reader (Special K) pointed out that *everything* generates ambivalence–married people feel ambivalent about being saddled with spouse (and maybe kids) all the time (or so we hear).
Christina
Even if you were good with tools and had a strong back and strong hands to open jars, there would still be things that take two people to do.
I come across these things every now and again. And it is very frustrating at times. I used to very much want a husband just for the purpose of helping me move stuff. Then I got a boyfriend and I was cleaning out my fish tank and although I *could* move it by myself it was really hard and potentially dangerous so I called him. Of course he was too busy playing fantasy football.
So now, if I know something needs to be done that I’ll need help with, I line up some helpers in advance and trade ’em for dinner or for something I can contribute to their life.
A few automative favors worth bartering with friends –
1) Getting a ride from medical procedures when you’ve had anesthesia and they won’t release you without a pickup
2) Getting a ride to and from the auto mechanic (especially in L.A. where public transportation is very spotty)
I gave up, years ago, on rides to/from the airport. Although a dear friend gladly picked me up after returning home from my father’s funeral.
After reading this the other night I discovered something that’s near impossible to do on one’s own: putting on a mattress protector. I did it eventually; it involved standing on the bed frame and hoisting the mattress up on my shoulder so I could slip the cover on slowly down one side, then repeating on the other side, and on and on until finally able to zip it up at the end. Oy! What a workout. Incidentally, even with a decent amount of facility with tools I’ve also found it a rather arduous process to put up [level] shelves. I remember when I dated a sculptor a few years back how much more I was able to get done around the house; I do quite well now but it’s not always easy.