One of the many, many problems of living with one’s Olds is that one no longer has much choice about certain things. Although they are always very clear that this is my house too, and that I belong here and all of that, when it comes down to decisions about the house and its contents, I have no say.
Which is probably for the best most of the time, because I hated owning a home and having to do things like mow the yard and call plumbers and vacuum. It was all a lot of energy that I could have been putting somewhere more valuable, such as learning to get along with other people in a professional environment—-HA! Oh, that was a good one.
I have already mentioned the Olds’ new furniture idea. Nothing has changed yet, but at any moment a large truck could roar up and start unloading things. Because it is clear now that I will not be getting any warning about future home improvement products. For instance, a week ago, the Olds went out for the afternoon, and came back with a gleam in their eyes and expressions of utter satisfaction on their smug little faces.
“What did you do?” I demanded, breaking up their little whisper and giggle fest.
(I am not kidding when I say it is like living with 4th graders. Ones that drink vodka instead of juiceboxes, but still)
They both sit up straight, mentally smoothing down their straightjackets, and one of them says, in a not particularly friendly way:
“WE bought a washer and dryer!”
The other Old nodded and glared at me as if to say “YEAH WE DID, MOTHERFUCKER!!”
They seemed very defensive about it. “Oh, good” I said, carefully. “When is it being delivered?”
“On SATURDAY!!!!”, they crowed, arms crossed, with, I swear to god, some hair tossing. Well. Head tossing, to be more precise. Not a lot of hair to toss on one of them.
I looked from the burning gaze of one to the barely concealed eye rolls of the other. Unable to think of any safe reply, I backed away with what I intended to be a pleasant look on my face, and shot down the stairs to my lair. I listened intently for any explosions upstairs but heard only some slapping…..which was disturbing until, I realized they were high five-ing each other.
Which, was still disturbing. It was just the least upsetting thing that such a sound could ha—-ANYWAY.
I will not recount the actual delivery and installation of the new appliances, for it is too annoying and too early for vodka. But it is here, and apparently, it works. For everyone but me. I have now tried to do three loads of laundry and I have a feeling they will be my last. I could probably figure out all of the seventy million different settings if I tried; that’s not really the point. What is going to drive me the rest of the way out of my mind is how one of the Olds keeps trying to help me. She does this from a different floor of the house, by yelling instructions which I cannot hear and which make no sense anyway, and then she threatens, I mean, offers, to come up and “help” me. This counts as technology instruction and is therefore unacceptable.
I’m either going to have to start going to the laundromat or just wearing my clothes in the shower to get them clean.
parenting guide for grown-ups 