Manual Labor

Today I realized why I work behind a desk. Because manual labor is work! And you really shouldn’t wear flip-flops. Apparently my husband was right. Just don’t tell him that!

Other things I learned today:

Apparently I make a weird grunting noise when I do physical labor. Like dragging nasty trash from one end of the house to the dumpster. When did that start? It’s the old in me coming out. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with my 18 year-old son. And it’s not like he’s a body builder either. Unless you count muscles from holding a video game control. He’s just young and I’m… not.

The same 18 year-old will let you go into 7-11 to get cold drinks with hair wild and curly from dry sweat after working in an house with no air-conditioning. Attractive.

I was watching The Way You Were this morning and apparently in the 70’s it was cool to leave your wife after she gives birth to your daughter and just never see her again. It did make me cry though. It reminded me of work. Robert Redford was my company who didn’t understand me and was annoyed by the way I protested the gov’t. And I ironed my hair. Ok, fine, it was nothing like work. Whatever.

When I don’t have gummy bears, I’ll just steal my husband’s Starburst. I have a bit of a candy habit. I can quit anytime! Well, with the exception of the gummy bears I bought at 7-11. They were a reward for a job well done! Ok. I do have a problem.

Oprah has some kind of “life classes” on OWN, but none of them involve how she managed to make all her money from a talk show. They are all daddy-less daughters and father-less boys. I would like a class on moneyless blondes!

My husband loves those “funny” video clip shows and will constantly interrupt me while I’m trying to blog. “Melanie, look at this. Look at this one. You’re not looking. Look at this dog.”

That’s all for today. Tomorrow is the weekend. I remember when that meant something. I remember when I didn’t know Oprah had a television station. Did you know Gimme a Break was on TV? It is. Really.Now I’m going to grunt myself to the bed. G’night! Ugh.

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