I have superpowers. You see, dear reader, there are certain things that only I am capable of doing. It is not because I choose to do them, but because the people I live with have decided, I can do them. Are these tasks saving the world from evildoers? No. Do they need superhuman strength to be completed? No. They are generally things that nobody else wants to do, so they assume I will do them. Again, let me entertain you with my lamenting on the evils my family faces and can only be saved by me.
First, there is dog vomit. Our pitbull, Chubby, who is anything but chubby, takes several jaunts around the farm each day. He brings back some form of disgusting treasure with each jaunt and leaves it in the front yard under the arborvitae trees. On any given day, our front yard looks like a boneyard or the scene of a massacre. Chubby frequently ingests these disgusting treasures and ultimately ends up with an upset stomach. I, dear reader, am the only person in our home capable of cleaning up dog vomit. The Bibbed Wonder will see it, will throw a paper towel over it, will walk by it, and will keep walking out the door, leaving the lovely gift for me to find upon awakening and stumbling to make my coffee. It is always atrocious but add the random paw sticking up out of the center of the putrid mess or the occasional ear, and it is downright vomitous. When questioned as to why he did not take care of the mess, The Bibbed Wonder responds, "Uh, you know I can't handle that kind of stuff! It's just too gross!" Seriously, you stick your hand up a pig's vagina? You shovel hills of manure of all kinds, but you can't handle dog vomit? Sigh...because I have a stomach made of steel.
Also, I am the only one who can feed, water, and let the dogs outside. With my x-ray vision, I can see from across the house that their water or feed dishes are empty. Only I can hear them whine at the door with my superhuman hearing abilities and do their noisy little pee dance. As I stomp down the stairs, I see my bean lounging in the living room. When asked why she did not let the dogs out or feed and water them, she responds, "Oh, I would have, but I didn't hear them." Insert annoyed eye roll...it is true; I do have superhuman hearing.
I am also the only one in our home capable of putting laundry away. You see, laundry is my arch-nemesis. I do battle with the dirty mounds every single day. However, once I have tackled and defeated the mountains of filth, I foolishly expect my trusty sidekicks to put said laundry in its appropriate place. The Bean, who is the most intelligent and capable of children, cannot figure out a clothes hanger. Her dad, not any better. Even when said clothes are placed on said hangers and then placed on the bed waiting to be hung in their appropriate places, these two cannot overcome their fear of the dangerous clothes hanger and mysterious closet. I have called their bluff on several occasions to find folded clothes left in laundry baskets for weeks and clothes on hangers thrown on the floor to be riffled through when needed. It is a good thing I don't have the ability to blow things into outer space with my mind. These two would have multiple trips to the moon.
Next, there is the dastardly toilet paper roll. This seemingly innocent tool of necessity and cleanliness baffles The Bibbed Wonder and The Bean. That little plastic tube fitted with springs is beyond the comprehension of two of the most intelligent people I have met. Once the roll is empty, it is left on the springy tool of mystery, and a new roll is set on top of the empty roll. We are making progress. In the past, it has been placed on the windowsill or the floor. Small victories, we celebrate small achievements.
Lastly, there is the toothpaste tube of doom. When said tube is empty, it makes perfect sense to throw it away. However, in my home, with my superhuman powers, only I can replace the toothpaste, throw the old tube out, and put the new tube in the drawer where everyone can find it. I cannot tell you how many mornings an empty toothpaste roll has been left on my counter by my sink as a signal to replace the tube at The Bibbed Wonder's sink. When confronted with the empty tube at my sink, The Bibbed Wonder responds with, "I just wanted you to know we were out of toothpaste." Because with my superhuman powers, I am the only one who can open the drawer and get a new tube? Sigh...it's tough being a superhero.
I love these mere mortals I cohabitate with and share a home. However, I find their chosen incapabilities excessively annoying. They are indeed fortunate I use my superhuman powers for good. There are days when these two could drive one quickly to the dark side. As always, dear reader, stay safe, stay smart, use your superhuman powers for good, and keep washing your hands...especially if your superhuman strength involves dog vomit...insert retching noise.