Recently I took my first me-time getaway in years. The Airbnb in a galaxy not very far away was cute and tidy, but not clean. Not like I would have cleaned it. So, I went to the dollar store, bought some supplies and spent two days of my four-day vaca making that place sparkle. It was the best I’ve felt in ages. But my spouse doesn’t get it. My friends don’t believe me. Is it really so crazy to enjoy scrubbing so much that I do it on holiday?
– Mrs. Clean
– Come stay at my house, Rachel
I experience things in feelings. Feelings almost like colors, but not visible ones. Like numbers – 1, 4, and 7 all have a similar feel. Like they are related. 2 and 8 share a feel. 5 and 3 and 9 aren’t alike, exactly, but they feel the same in the way that everything looks the same color at dusk. I opened my trap at a quiet dinner party recently and was promptly made to feel like the village Quasimodo. I can’t be the only one to think and feel this way, can I?
– Sixth Sense
Dear Sick Sense,
Strictly because there are billions of people on the planet, I doubt you are the only one to think and feel this way. That’s what gets me through my dark and lonely times, when I think no one could be as miserable as me. Pure mathematical odds are that someone out there is actually exactly like me. Which makes me feel normal, and then makes me feel unoriginal. So thank you for giving me reason to say, next time I feel down about being milquetoast, “Hey, at least I don’t feel numbers.”
– Seven ate nine, Rachel
I have come to a life-altering realization: I do not need to wash all my dishes. If they’re dirty, yes. But take my frying pan. I cook eggs in coconut oil every morning. The pan always has remnant coconut oil, which solidifies when the pan cools. I no longer wash that oil out every day. I’ll heat the pan again tomorrow, kill anything that might have grown in there despite coconut oil being antimicrobial, and cook my eggs. I’ll wash the pan every three or four days, so I’m not a barbarian. It’s saved me so much time and stress. Now I just need you to convince my wife.
Dear Green Eggs,
My gut response is to gag up every breakfast I’ve ever eaten. But then I think of cast iron, and how people spend generations “seasoning it.” I’ve never had cast iron. But I gather this is a process wherein you never actually wash a pan beyond wiping it out with a paper towel. So I recommend switching over to Team Cast Iron. Or switching your wife out for that cleaning vacation lady, once she’s done with my place.
– I do not like them, Rachel