The only thing standing between me and a great nights sleep is this stupid four elastic cornered sheet. In a small apartment there is no placement choice for a bed other than slammed into a corner. It’s certainly not feng shui, but at least you can walk through the room. This decorating decision, although practical, makes putting clean sheets on my bed extremely frustrating. I crawl across my Overstock.com Tempurpedic knock off foam pad in an attempt to secure the far corner one more time. A bead of sweat forms on my forehead.
I have been making my bed the same way, with the exact same technology, for the majority of my life. Somehow, I am no better at it now than I was at 8. Actually I was probably better at that age because I had tiny fitted sheet crevasse jamming hands.
An angry growl comes from deep inside me and the noise that pours out of my mouth sounds just like my dad. I am legitimately angry with a mundane task, and unfortunately this feeling is not unfamiliar.
For the most part, I am extremely even keeled. I have fits, sure, but it takes a lot to get me truly upset. However, there are certain things that make me lose my shit in a shocking and oftentimes entertaining way.
Some of them have developed later in life, and some seemingly simple tasks have upset me since birth. These are the activities I have decided I am genetically predispositioned to despise:
-Pumping Bike Tires- How is this upsetting? I don’t know. Really. Maybe it is because I have to postpone my bike ride until this chore is finished. But if anything goes wrong, like the seal is not tight and air starts hissing out, I get irrationally upset.
-Folding Laundry- Folding anything really. Dirty clothes into the washer, fine, washer to dryer, fine, dryer to closet….no, thank you. I don’t even bother turning my clothes right side out. I just fold them with the skill of an infant and shove my crappy clothing items into their respective drawers.
-Putting Together IKEA Furniture- Yes, everyone hates this, but there was a day about 6 months ago when I was constructing a small set of metal drawers with legitimate murder in my eyes. Ironically I like to build furniture on my own.
-Shaving- I also can’t handle a beard. It’s a lose-lose.
-Looking for Parking- I’m at my home, but I won’t actually be in my home for another 40 minutes because there is nowhere to put my stupid automobile. The only reason I still have a car is because I wind up parking so far away from my destination that I literally “walk it off”. “It” being my state of fury intention to make a Craigslist “for sale” posting.
-Tying My Shoes- It’s not the initial tie. It’s when I am out and have to stop and tie a shoe that has come undone. I will generally look at it for a block before conceding. At this point the lace is filthy, and since I am a bit of a germaphobe, I have to wash my hands afterwards.
I know, nothing on this list is actually worth getting upset about. This is why I think frustration is hereditary. You see, my dad does the same thing. A house rattling “DAMMITTT!!!” echoes through the hall, followed by complete serenity. The batteries must have come out of the remote. My brother and I would make fun of our dad’s obvious loss of perspective, and now we both do the same thing.
So as I stand calmly sweating with a shredded fitted sheet on the floor in front of me, I am reminded of an anti-drug campaign ad from the early 90’s.
“I learned it from you dad, OK? I learned it from watching you.”