everyone is back in bed from morning prayers. It is 7. 34am and apart from my older siblings who have gone to work, the rest of us are lounging contentedly in our beds of not-yet-qualified-to-have-a-jobedness, owner-of-business and retiree… oops. I spoke too soon it seems. There is a rattle of pots in the kitchen. It is my mum. I know because I have just been there, to clear the mess of my brothers plates and cooler they ate from yesternight. I should be in the kitchen with her right? Wrong. Morning food is not her work or mine.
Here’s the thing. Part of my responsibilities in this house is dinner. It involves, clearing breakfast/lunch stuff on the table and in the sink, laying the table for dinner, preparing dinner, emptying trash. That’s how I choose for it to be. I like work when I can see what I’ve done and slap my own back… work that has a limit. That you can tick tick tick on a paper, say done, stretch and go relax. clearly defined work. As you can see morning food is not amongst these responsibilities so, if they fancy roasted sand. I donno, I don’t care. It is my brothers’ duty not mine.
The idea of breakfast is made as easy as possible. cut yam, boil said yam and warm stew (that momsi expects me to have placed in a pot for them in the fridge since they cannot pour from a plastic themselves and might get confused about this technicality). Easy enough for the kitchen-inept vagina-lacking individuals in this house to do right? Wrong.
The yam finished and they kept this info to themselves. And guess who momsi turned on? (Hint: she has no penis) … if you guessed rightly, and replied “the drunk archer” click HERE for your gift.
Its like having a vagina gives you the ability to be a superwoman in cooking, cleaning, mowing lawns, painting, arranging, lifting, making lists etc. And having a penis well, entitles you to turn on the generator.