Degree of Difficulty

The Cat and The Comforter (and its cover)

B and I struggle, as every modern family does, with The Changing of the Comforter Cover. We have a cat, so this should be done every couple of weeks. Unfortunately, it is not so. We used to try to do it together: Debacle. She or I would end up standing on the bed, lifting things and shaking them, trying desperately to communicate what assistance was needed, and eventually becoming so distraught we needed the other to leave the room. This lovely language of ours (English) just does not have words for the manipulations that must be synchronized during The Changing of the Comforter Cover. Eventually, we determined that The Changing of the Comforter Cover, like so many of life's difficult tasks, had to be done alone.

Recently, I got a job. (Yay!) Since then, the one thing I have insisted on, which B grudgingly agreed to, is a maid service. They come every two weeks, and one time, they even attempted The Changing of the Comforter Cover. They did it wrong, of course, but who can blame them? They're maids, not superheros! I was grateful that they'd even had the courage to look at the damn thing.

All of our comforter covers have holes in them. (Did I mention the cat?) I'm not sure, since they're so worn and clawed, why it matters to us that they be changed every so often. But it does. Of course anytime someone attempts The Changing of the Comforter Cover, the cat comes to cause trouble. She (the cat) is terrified of all strangers, vacuum cleaners, and feather dusters, but I'm sure she showed up when the maids attempted The Changing of the Comforter Cover. Why? Because that is What She Does. One of her primary purposes is to disrupt The Changing of the Comforter Cover. This purpose is a higher purpose (It must have something to do with the cat/fabric ecosystemic balance.), and it takes precedence over hiding from strangers (even those with vacuum cleaners) and other less important duties, like getting stuck places and making us crawl all over the floor, appliances, and furniture searching for her. Somewhere in her pea-sized brain, she (the cat) decides that she will put aside her vacuum/stranger phobia and take one for the team, courageously disrupting The Changing of the Comforter Cover time and time again.

Of course, I was not here to witness the disruption, but I know it must have happened. I know it in my bones. I almost wrote the maids a letter of apology, on the cat's behalf. Instead I just tried not to be too disappointed when the maids did not attempt The Changing of the Comforter Cover the next time they came. They are, as we said, maids, not goddesses.

Something about this whole thing reminded me of a trip to the refrigerator I made the other day. We eat a lot of fruit in my family. I'm obsessed with oranges. B is obsessed with apples. Ari is obsessed with grapes. Sometimes, there is crossover. The honey crisp apples B has been bringing home lately are worth stealing. So, the other day, I opened the refrigerator, and there was the biggest apple I had ever seen. I was terrified. It was so big it might have been a pumpkin! I immediately thought of eating it, of course, as one naturally would, but then I became so concerned about How It Had Come To Be that I was too grossed out. I mean, what the hell did somebody have to do to grow such a thing? Did they feed it blood? Inject it with steroids? The possibilities are staggering.

What does this have to do with The Changing of the Comforter Cover? Just: navigating one's household is a dangerous thing. Even if one doesn't have an anxiety disorder, the degree of difficulty in just, like, subsisting -- eating apples and changing bedding, for instance -- is massive. I was alone when I was frightened by the apple, and I don't even try The Changing of the Comforter Cover anymore if I'm not alone, but there is an un-aloneness in both of these. After I explained the apple incident to B, she apologized earnestly for having left it there to frighten me, in a way that only a woman who understands me could have. Whenever I change the comforter cover, I'm given treats and praise and gratitude. So, it doesn't seem so bad. This life, with all its first world problems, can be difficult, and I, for one, am glad I'm not doing it alone.