Wednesday is a very special day around here. Why? The wonderful trash collector stops by. Mrs. Billingsley knows this. She vastly underestimates the significance of this event.
The focus of Wednesday morning is first to take out the trash. Does this seems easy? Well, it's middle off the road. The trash has to be collected up and new trash bags put in the trash can. How many? Usually on Wednesday that is three bags. These bags are fairly heavy, and every now and then they are heavier than I can carry. Then? Do my best and usually just leave them wherever I happen to be when I fall over. If I fall, I quit carrying bags. I still have an injury from last week when I didn't make it. If I fall, it's probably because I was tired. I'm in danger then of a worse fall if I keep going, so that's it, usually for the rest of the day. Bottom line, it's about as much as I can manage. In addition, I have rheumatoid arthritis, so there is pain involved. Take it out the day before, you say. Yeah, yeah. I do that. But there's always more.
So what happens when I focus of taking out the trash first things in the morning? What is the most upsetting thing on earth to Mrs. Billingsley? She is completely convinced that she is the center of the universe. Taking out the trash interferes with this centrality. How long does it usually take to take out the trash? About half an hour. Half an hour of not focusing on Mrs. Billingsley. This is unacceptable. Furthermore, she began to say, this is not Wednesday! "What day do you think it is?" I asked. "It's Thursday." "It is not Thursday. It's right here on the calendar. Wednesday."
So these things have to be done on Wednesdays especially as soon as I get up or else there could be problems. I would say it takes around 45 minutes because, in addition to the doing of the chore, I sit down and take little breaks to catch my breath and cool off. What was the temperature this morning? 98 degrees.
Mrs. Billingsley was relentless in her complaints. "Why don't you call my brother and complain to him?" I asked. "Has he ever taken out the trash? Has he ever emptied the chamber pot? Does he shop for groceries or pay for them? Does he take care of the bills? Wash the laundry? Do you rag on him? No, you rag on the person doing these things for you." My brother feels that the solution to Mrs. Billingsley's situation is to send her to a nursing home. OK. That's not totally unreasonable. It's not what she wants, and it's not what I want. Her health is fairly good. She's in fair shape cognitively. She doesn't need medication or shots or someone to monitor her blood sugar or blood pressure.
Mrs. Billingsley was angry because she wanted breakfast. NOOOOOOW!!!!
OK. I pointed out that she is ordering me around like hired help. She looked at me with outrage, as if she were thinking of firing me. I finally did the right thing and made breakfast. Today I dared not make myself coffee. Nothing gets her goat more than seeing me sit around having my first cup of coffee in the morning. Just to get even, I decided not to give her any coffee either.
I guess this is what happens on Wednesday mornings around here.
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