Feb 122018
 

This piece was published on the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Website on February 11, 2018 — The retired life is resplendent with richness and meaning. It does not, however, free one from the tasks of ordinary life. I often must rise from my red velour chaise lounge, set the peppermint bonbons and glass of sherry aside, and attend to the mundane duties of the household.

I am well trained for these responsibilities, having had an All Important Position for more than 30 years, and of course, the Most Important Job of a mother for 18 plus years.

The All Important Position required me to carry a tiny box, a box that sent me messages, much like Billy Mumy on “Twilight Zone.”  I was also expected to know things, and especially important that I answer questions from those who reported to me.

Did I turn in an expense report last July 3? Look it up on your computer.

I can’t, a bear ate my computer, and I must connect to the Mother Ship through your docking station. Now, what’s my password?  Call the help desk.

What’s their number?  It’s 1-800-How-Many-Days-Until-I-Retire?

As a mother in the Most Important Job, I was expected to know things, and especially important that I answer questions from those who once resided in my uterus.

Where are my car keys? On the kitchen counter where you left them.

Where is my Scout sash?  In your closet on the hanger with your uniform.

What did I do with my Biology book? Did you look in your backpack?

These high-level skills now transfer to my Really Important Job as retiree wife, where I’m expected to know things and answer questions from my helpmate of 34 years.

Where are my car keys? On the kitchen counter where you left them.

Where is the can opener?  In the same drawer, it’s been in since we moved here in 1996.

What did I do with my work calendar? Did you look in your briefcase?

My skills, along with everything I learned in graduate school, have increased my value at home beyond answering questions since my retirement. Tonight, I’m descaling our pod coffeemaker.

In the olden days when our coffeemaker broke, we went to Wally World and bought another plastic Mr. Coffee for $20. Our first Mr. Coffee, a wedding present, lasted more than two decades.  The newer ones, not so much.  But for a year of great coffee, $20 is not excessive.

I had to get all fancy when the pod coffee makers came out. Now I’m in descaling hell.  I’m sorry no one was home to hear my obscene-laden cries when I read the instructions, which were glued to the bottle. When I pried them off, they stuck back to back on the Chinese instructions.  Thankfully, I still had the manual from the pod coffeemaker, so there you go.

How to descale a coffeemaker in 143 easy steps:

First, dump all the water out of the coffeemaker. No instructions on this.  I gingerly picked up the red monster, turned it upside down, and poured all the water in the sink.  I’m not sure if there’s a secret reservoir I’m missing.  I then poured in the descaling solution which is made of arsenic, old tires, Pepsi and dishwashing detergent.

The next step is completing two cleansing brews. Thankfully I was doing cleansing breaths while waiting for the cleansing brews. This took about 10 minutes and had it not been for my cleansing breaths, I might have been more irritated.

Instructions dictate the coffeemaker sits with the lethal slumgullion baking inside the reservoir for 30 minutes.

Great, I’ll soon be finished.

Not so fast. Because of the unknown contents of the toxic brew (possibly elephant sperm, pizza rolls, battery acid and dish detergent?), a dozen OR MORE cleansing brews are necessary.  Seriously, what the he** is in that stuff?  Do I really want to drink the coffee that comes out of it after all this?

I have four Wally Worlds within six miles of my house. I could have put on a bra, shoes and my parka, driven to Wally World and purchased a new coffeemaker and paid for it in the regular not the scanner line, gone to Zaxby’s Chicken for a three-piece chicken strip meal substituting cole slaw for French fries, eaten my dinner in the car, driven home, and made new coffee in the time it takes to descale this bad boy.

But I’m going to complete the housewifely job when the 30 minutes is up.  I may be up all night running cleansing brews. This is bad for me because tomorrow I will need considerable energy to rise from my chaise lounge, put aside the lemon drop martini and bruschetta, and head to the deck to clean the ca-ca off the top of the bird feeders.

— Amy McVay Abbott

A retired health care executive, Abbott is a Midwestern writer and author of four books. Her online home is http://amyabbottwrites.com.

 

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