My not so militant feminism took a huge hit today. I let it down. I may as well just hand in my membership card and start fluttering my eyelashes again. I went shopping for a truckload of groceries to feed my hollow-legged army of young men. Haven’t shopped properly in about 10 days so there was a lot of stuff to shlepp. My parking spot is on the other side of the apartment building, in a parking garage that has a makeshift ramp so you can push up the shopping carts full of stuff and take the elevator. Usually I have no problem pushing the cart up myself, although it has fallen off the ramp a time or two…. Mostly when the boys are around it’s their job, but seeing as they had to attend school today (sucks to be them) it fell to me to do.
I tried to push it up the ramp. To no avail. It was way too heavy. My superintendant always helps me, but he just got out of the hospital after 3 weeks suffering from a heart ailment. So I couldn’t ask him. He just happened to walk by, and immediately went back to his apartment to call his wife to help me. Girl Power!!
So I am stood there at the bottom of the ramp with my huge shopping cart full of vittles, and the two furnace guys walk by to fix the poxy furnace that has been in a mood lately. I asked them, in French no less, to please help me push the cart up the ramp because it is too heavy for poor little moi. I may even have batted an eyelash or two. They were only too pleased to help me out, and save Mrs Superintendant some extra work too.
I still had to shlepp it to the elevator and down the long hallway to the apartment, but at least my back didn’t break this time.
Now comes my second offense. My name is Hadassah and I am such a girl! At 6 am there was a big to-do chez nous. The boys spotted a mouse. And chased it. And failed to catch it before they went off to school. I tried so hard to be nonchalant about it. Maybe I pulled it off. Inside I was quaking. But after their merciless teasing last time, I figured I had better play it cool.
After I had put away the groceries, I decided to straighten up the living room. I moved the couch to sweep under and behind. There was a mousetrap still there from last time. With a dead mouse stuck to it. I screamed. No one around to hear me, yet I screamed. I swept all around it. Cleaned up the rest of the living room and left it there. There was no way I was going to pick that thing up and dispose of it. Every time I looked at it I felt totally skeeved out. I was reminded by Kosher Academic that my boys would be home soon, and I was so thrilled to know that one of my strapping young men would get rid of it for me. Squiggy came home, and I asked him straightaway to dispose of the body.
He looked at me, and said, “Ima, go in your room. I don’t need you fainting”. I had this perverse need to watch him sweep it up. I guess to make sure it was gone?! When he touched it with the broom I yelped. He rolled his eyes. I was accused of being such a girl. Yeah. What’s your point, kid??
He took it to the garbage chute and said goodbye. I sat down relieved. Then he said, almost as an aside, “You know Ima, that was not the mouse we saw this morning. That mouse has been dead for a while and was the wrong colour. Just thought you should know”.
My feet have not touched the floor in an hour. I am scared of a teeny tiny little mouse that I could squish easily. Pathetic.