Mostly True Memoirs
How to get out of chores. Don’t tell Bob that it was easy.
I’m so nice.
Bob mowed the lawn for the first time this spring.
The first mow is a huge job because the grass is so thick.
He sunk down into the couch in exhaustion, and then he said,
“Oh I forgot, it’s trash night.”
Because I’m so nice, I said, “Don’t get up, I’ll do it.”
And then I instantly regretted my offer.
Because it was already dark.
There might be spiders.
Or a possum.
Or maybe even a cow.
Bob rolled his eyes and said, “Never mind, I’ll do it.”
But I insisted.
I am not a coward.
Well, I am, but still…
I braved the dark suburban wilds to haul the cans to the curb.
Bob told me not to worry.
I am small.
If anything should happen, he could easily fit me into one of the trash bins.
I was not reassured.
Not one bit.
The entire trash-can-hauling-in-the-dark incident turned out to be completely uneventful.
But don’t tell Bob.
He might expect me to do it again.