Since my first job at the age of 16, I’ve always maintained a pretty solid work reputation as someone who excels and is extremely reliable. At home, on the other hand, I’m ashamed to confess that I suffer from a semi-permanent damsel-in-distress status. Hours of deep thought went into finding the cause of this phenomenon and I finally found the answer: My husband makes me lazy.
Seriously, he’s to blame. At work, I know the answers. People ask me stuff. But somehow, when I cross that threshold and see him standing there, my brain silently packs its bags and vacates the premises. I suddenly have no clue how to do anything and the tiniest problems plague my empty head until I resort to wailing his name from the opposite end of the house, perfecting the sound of distress like only a wife could. Aside from lifting heavy stuff, killing scary bugs and giving me advice on everyday dilemmas, I’m ashamed to admit these are some of the other things I ask him to help me with: