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I don’t long for a live-in partner. I’m content at home with Rose, my dog. But there are times when I fantasize that someone on the premises could make life easier. This weekend, I tackled something I abhor, but know I must do. Changing the smoke alarm batteries. Years ago, after being awakened with that shrill beep while Rose panicked under the bed, I was determined to be proactive. Now the task is etched into my calendar for the first Sunday in October, at 11 AM, when I’m most ready to brave the top of the step ladder (given a fear of heights). Coincidentally, another odious task surfaced this weekend when I scraped the bottom of both my body lotion and shower gel, which meant I’d need to open two new pump tops. In the context of our national crisis, I realize this is petty stuff. But I found myself yearning for an extra set of able hands.
Cartoon by Teresa Burns Pankhurst for The New Yorker [1]