Chronicles Of A Stay At Home Mom: fake dumb faking dumb
by Mommy Hobbies
In my napsack stash
Good lord, what an admission and I really hope my husband doesn’t read this. But, please, ladies, don’t tell me you don’t do this…
I know how to do a lot of things and then there are things that I just *don’t want to do*. For instance, the bbq. It isn’t rocket science, and I know I can do it, but I just can’t help think that my luck would have it for my brows to be singed off, leaving me with a uni-brow-like stain and an unfortunate look about me. Not going to risk it. So, I feign stupidity leaving that job to D.
Pulling apart the vacuum to extract all the hair, string and shoe laces from the beater bar. Yes, I can do it, but I don’t want to. Once again, I am almost positive it’s in the book of fate that as my fingers are in there digging around, my little two year old will manage to plug it in and turn it on. Chop-chop. My fingers will be eaten and that “unfortunate look about me” image becomes a reality.
Using the riding lawn mower to wack down two acres worth of grass on our property. Not going to do it. It doesn’t look like fun and who wants to drive in circles anyway? As a kid I used to love mowing the lawn. I enjoyed making straight lines in the grass…uhm, but, for some reason the riding lawn mower does not woo me. And it won’t ever. My hair, and those low branches just won’t mix and I won’t be pulling an Absalom in my own front yard.
And I can’t say that I jump at the chance to put together any type of furniture. Those instructions are intimidating… just waiting to be wadded up and tossed clear across the room in frustration. *sigh* I’m starting to sound helpless, aren’t I? But loading up a poorly constructed book case is a recipe for crash-bang-boom in the middle of the night and a young couple dead in their bed from fright.
I’m sure that there is an ego-boosting factor in this for my husband. He’s just so good at all of these things. Why mess a good thing up, right?