Twelve – You know what chores you hate.

By the time you turn thirty, you know what chores you don’t mind doing, would rather do, and the ones you absolutely hate. Some of us figured this out earlier than thirty, though.

I knew I hated cleaning toilets at age eight. When my mom would make the weekly chore chart, I would cross my fingers and pray before seeing who got stuck cleaning the bathrooms. I never liked being the one to clean the toilet; it was just a gross job. Only later, when I discovered my OCD did I begin to put more emphasis on cleaning the toilet once a week.

Doing the dishes never bothered me. There were five of us kids so one of us would be responsible for helping with the dishes each day of the week; Saturday and Sunday were all Ma Bunn. My day was Friday which was nice on those rare occasions when we’d go out to pizza on a Friday night. My distaste for dishwashing came much later in life, when I moved in with my parents as an adult. They didn’t have a working dishwasher so to clean the dishes, one had to clean them by hand in the sink. I think I hated this because it made my hands burn so much. They would get wrinkly and sometimes sore depending how many dishes had to be done. Some might say I should have worn rubber gloves, but those that would say this don’t know me. Rubber gloves leave a gross smell on your hands. Bad smells are what cause me to revert to my former OCD tendencies. It’s totally not worth it.

Chores suck. That’s why they’re called chores. If we liked chores, we would call them something else like adventures or challenge courses, not chores. I suppose doing chores are worth it though. It’s better to do a few chores than to live in a house that’s breaking down where snakes and spiders have invaded your life and eventually cause you a painful death.

Tata for now.



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