Someone Has To, But Not Me

Big Guy and I had children for the same reason everyone else does: So they can do things for us. With a bit of prodding, over the years, Birdie and Daisy have unloaded the dishwasher, mowed the grass, folded laundry and shown remarkable self-initiative in monitoring our wardrobe choices. But now, the family sits trapped at an impasse. Daisy is away at college. And Birdie appears to have inherited a double dose of aversion to Styrofoam. Two huge slabs of the nasty stuff rest on our back porch. These remnants of replacing the hot tub cover need to be broken into smaller pieces to place in the trash. Neither Frank nor I will lay our hands on them long enough to break them. They feel creepy stiff--like Styrofoam--and we worry that we will accidentally create a noise akin to fingernails on a chalkboard. Just amongst you, me and whomever else stumbles on this blog, if I had known Big Guy felt so strongly about Styrofoam, I might would have reconsidered my choice in mate. Spiders wander away eventually, grass grows only so tall and AAA will bring gas when your car runs completely dry. Nothing is going to move that Styrofoam. Tomorrow I will attempt to lure Birdie to the task by offering cute pink earplugs and flowered gloves. When that doesn't work, I will threaten her. She will capitulate--sort of, meaning she will promise to take care of the Styrofoam, then hide the twin slabs under beach towels. In the end, we will wait to spring the task on Daisy. Perhaps she will come home for Thanksgiving full of goodwill and ready for cash in her pocket.