Whoever said marriage was supposed to be fun was not living in my sneakers. I am supposed to be retired and the only thing I recognize is that I’m always tired. Cooking, cleaning, washing, drying, feeding crabby dog, running him to the groomers, trying to grab the mouse from cranky cat, before she deposits it in the potato cupboard, tending to all of moody Clem’s wants and on and on it goes. I am wondering where the fun is hiding.
The only thing crabby dog has to worry about is that he doesn’t do his mess in the house at least where I can find it, and that he gets food and water. Cranky cat dances around all night playing tag with mice, and all Clem has to worry about is I don’t find his corn liquor and squeal to the cops about his selling that darn poison.
Is a woman’s work ever done? Does she ever get to experience some down time besides depression that is? I hear on the news every day about how bad health and depression is caused by stress. Folks, my body is in bad shape. The stress this old body is under would curl the eyelids on a cow. Most of my stress is caused by money, family, and my family that has no money.
I try to budget what little money I get, but honestly, it seems that I just get some when one of the family is digging through my purse looking to scoff any thing that looks like it spends. Why there’s more month at the end of the month then there is pension to fit it. A lady can’t go far with the tiny scraps of pension doled out to her.
How can there be a ceiling on a pension? Why a gal still has to get new choppers once in a while especially when they get chipped easily from cooking, and it’s not my fault. They just don’t make tender beef like they used to any more. I’d like to buy some finery, but anything that looks good on me anymore is either black or flowery and not even pretty flowers either. I went for a make-over the other day, and the gal told me they didn’t carry that much stuff in stock, and even if they ordered it in, I would cost more than I could afford.
Now I ask you, how the heck could she tell if I could afford it or not? I was wondering if it was when I asked what sort of make-over I could get for five bucks, or when she saw that my hairy legs were hanging out from the bottom of my cut-offs.
I guess instead of complaining here, I should be grateful that I have a crabby, cranky, moody family who is demanding, spoiled, cheap, and all the other things. Why if I didn’t have that I would probably be living down south sitting on a beach in my favourite chair, feeling the warm ocean breezes deposit little wisps of water over my skin as it caresses my body, while I watch the clouds floating by as I try to guess what shapes I see up there. Now who the heck would trade my family for all of that? Now folks, if you are trying to reach me by phone, my number is 805-FLO-RIDA. Klara
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