Don't you just hate it when you go to any office, let's say your doctor's office, where the receptionist shoves a novella of paperwork in your hand and an ink pen with a feather, plastic spoon, bouquet of fake flowers, or some other ridiculous object glued to it so one of their absentminded clients doesn't stuff it in their pocket and expects you to write the equivalent of the 'Great American Novel' on lines too small to hold more than a dozen letters? Mine is more like a work of very creative fiction. I write things that make me look like a healthy 40-year-old to see if they'll notice. So far, as far as I can tell, they haven't. Maybe they're used to senior citizens lying to them (I call it wishful thinking) about our status quo.
Let's face it–my handwriting has deteriorated greatly since I graduated high school. (It was hard chiseling on those slate tablets. Har! Har! At least that's what our grandkids think we did.) Legible is not a word I'd attribute to it now. I blame it on a combination of the advent of typewriters and computers and my declining hand strength. I don't even recognize my own name anymore when I scribble it. Does anyone write theirs in a manner that someone else can read? I lament the loss of my nice and legible handwriting. Oh, well.
Have you noticed several of the pages the receptionist shoved at you asks for the same information over and over and over? Do they get tired of reading and figure if it's on all the pages they only must peruse one? And why do they want us to write down our insurance information from the cards they just took from us and scanned into their system?
Maybe the paperwork is to see if you've gotten to the point where you can't remember what you told them last time, they saw you and they can detect your complete cognitive decline. Naw. I think they just like lots of paperwork so they can look busy.
But I digress, of course. I never know what to put down on the occupation line. When I was working it was easy. Well, easier, I guess. I worked for a newspaper doing a little bit of everything from typesetting ads, writing articles, taking, and developing pictures, to covering council meetings. That's how it is when you work for a small-town newspaper, and I loved it but how was I supposed to describe my job title? Reporter? Photographer? Schleper? Slave? After 20 years away from it, I don't even remember what I put down what my job was. I know all that wouldn't fit on the teeny tiny line provided.
Now that I've been 'retired' for several years, I'm flummoxed as to what to put on the forms. After all, I haven't exactly spent the ensuing years since walking away sitting on my duff. I've spent most of it chasing grandkids. Is there any better way to spend my days? I don't think so.
What was my point? Oh, yeah.
So, what do I write on that tiny line? Nana? How about housewife, domestic engineer, or domestic goddess?
Does anyone with those titles know when it's the perfect time to throw away leftovers? Only someone of my stature knows the proper way to dispose of them. I place any amount, no matter how minute, in a container that is usually too big and wait for the optimum time (usually trash day) to pitch it in the garbage can. No leftovers shall be disposed of before their time in the Harris household.
I don't bother dusting the furniture until some smart aleck grandkid writes 'Clean Me' or 'Help, I'm being forced to dust' on the surface. That's how I know it's time.
I know when it's time to sweep under the beds. That time is when the dust bunnies threaten to organize and take over.
One thing for sure is I refuse to do windows. After all, I have to draw the line somewhere. I've learned if I wait long enough, David will do it.
There has to be the perfect title for someone like me besides the ones I've already mentioned. Domestic engineer implies I can build things and I guess I can if you don't mind it looking like something made in shop class. Domestic goddess doesn't do it for me. I'm not really the 'goddess' type. Queen, yes. Goddess, no.
I've given it a great deal of thought since our dreaded annual doctor checkups are coming up in the next couple of months and I think this year I'll shake things up. I think I'll write House Drudge on the occupation line. I think it fits me quite well, don't you?