Well. Part-time She-Hulk.
You see, yesterday was go-to-the-grocery-store day. Of all the items that appear on the “Shit You Gotta Do When You’re A Grown-Up” list, grocery shopping is my uncontested least favorite. Human beings are at their most annoying when they’re in the produce section, the parking always sucks, without fail I am destined to pick the wrong check-out aisle and by the time I make it home, most of the crap I bought has escaped their bags and tumbled into the most difficult to reach spots in my car.
I think all the agitation unleashes my inner Lou Ferrigno. Because by the time I arrive home, I am so irritable and so completely over it that I am able to do this:
It’s an incredible feat of strength and efficiency that I have yet to duplicate in any other activity. Period.
Take for example, unloading the dishwasher looks more like this:
And today’s chore is laundry.
Laundry is so easy! I get to sit on my ass for a majority of the process, making it by far my most favorite domestic task. But hand to God, as I look at that laundry basket with ergonomic, no-slip-grip handles, faced with the knowledge that I have GOT to get it up the stairs, I can almost literally feel my muscles (the very muscles that carried 268 lbs. of grocery bags in one trip just yesterday) retreat into my body.
Seriously, I get all Benjamin Buttony.
One day this week, I already know that I’m going to have to carry out a load of trash. Jesus-take-the-wheel, it will not be one of my finer moments. I typically kick this task off with approximately 30-45 minutes of this:
When that doesn’t work and I’m finally faced with the ugly truth that the garbage didn’t magically disappear and if I procrastinate any further my friends are going to bust me and turn me into the the producers of “Hoarders”, I saddle up and do what any proper part-time She-Hulk would do.
Until next time, friends. I’m off to go refill the toilet paper.