Multi tasking is a multi crock. Put down the ironing, your library book, and the kitchen knives and let me tell you why.
Have you ever met someone who brags that they can “multi task”? With their eight human-octopus hands and mad skilz, they can write, watch the kids, sell a house, cook a roast, and knit a dog.
With one hand tied behind their back. (I’ve always wondered how that works; what do they tie your hand to?)
On Saturday I cleaned as usual.
I vacuumed, sweated, dusted, sweated, cleared clutter, sweated, and cursed the day I was born. This is all normal behavior.
On Saturdays no one is home but me. It’s safe to both curse and sweat profusely. Occasionally I’ll clean when other people are home in hopes I’ll get help, but it never works out that way. How can people really help you vacuum anyway, unless you own two vacuums? If you need furniture moved, I guess another person is good to have around, unless they suddenly develop ‘back problems’.
After I was finished with the housework, I started a bath. And completely spaced. I’d been studying, thinking of an upcoming appointment, thinking about writing, what I would write about, what I had written about, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, to quoth the King of Siam in the person of Yul Brynner.
I suddenly remembered the tub and walked around the corner from the kitchen to the hallway.
There was my dog, Sugar, standing in the hall, staring open mouthed toward the bathroom and pointing frantically. She was wearing a doggy sized life vest and had goggles and a snorkel on. I know it’s rude to point, but she doesn’t speak English.
People call female dogs bad names, and not warning people of a possible flood is one of the reasons they call them that.
I followed her gaze into the bathroom. There was a tsunami heading our way. If you guessed that the tub had overflowed and had been overflowing for several minutes, you are correct.
The tub waters roared majestically over the rim of the tub and across the shoreline of the door sill. It swept houses, cars, trees, and shampoo bottles along in its path, picking up a few bath toys on its way, like my rubber ducky who was bobbing cheerfully along past the sink and the potty. The final death toll of bath toys still has not been confirmed.
The water finally swamped itself three feet into the carpeting in the hallway and was trying to move the finish line even further away.
It took fifty pounds of towels, which started out at around two pounds, flung down and tromped on twice, and dragging a hundred pound dripping bath rug through the house to the washing machine, to start getting things back to normal.
The carpet was feeling better after the stomping. I gave it some wine, too, just to help its feelings along. (I drank it, though.)
Last night, some woman called the MOTH (man of the house) to ask for help with her mobile device. He explained that his business used to be called ‘Mobile Services’, because it was automotive repair, but he changed it when he moved into a brick and stick building.
“Well, can you help me with my ‘mobile device’?” she asked him after he’d just explained that he worked on cars only. He chose to take it in a serious spirit, but he did tell her he couldn’t multi task like the old days.
I can verify that. I’m not that much of a multi tasker anymore myself and I keep my mobile device at home.