by Roderic Williams

Created on: January 08, 2009

Housework has always been one of the most memorable activities of my daily life. When I was growing up, I was labelled the "good son" because I would do any and everything that my mom and grandmother asked of me. My younger brother on the other hand, never so much as got dust underneath his fingernails.

I hand a bevy of household chores when i was growing up. The toughest chore was that of mowing the lawn. This was especially stressful for me because I had pollen allergies and anytime I cut the grass my eyes would swell and my nose would run. That didn't stop my grandmother and her remedies. She'd send me outside with a torn t-shirt and a pair of her optometrist glasses that were given to her whenever she got her pupils dilated. Now you can imagine how ridiculous I appeared to cars passing me by on the road. To make matters worse, my eyes would always swell up despite my grandmother's best efforts.

What is it about kitchen chores? Are they geared to inure the unsuspecting household worker in every possible way? My grandmother must have had hands of steel because anytime she'd ask me to wash the dishes for her she'd always run the water 100 degrees hotter than I could stand. And don't let me try to adjust the temperature of the water by pouring out some of the hotter water and adding cool water, she'd have a conniption. "Why are you pouring out my water? I just made that water, it's clean!" Yes, grandma it is clean, so clean that's it's actually "cleaning" the flesh from my bones. I could never wash the dishes without getting every article of clothing I had on wet. No matter how careful I was there was always that one odd shaped bowl or spoon that would catch the water at the worst possible angle and shoot an always humiliating spritz of water onto my clothes. I would never get splashed anywhere except underneath my arms and right in my groin area. You can imagine how the rest of the day went because right after washing the dishes, it was off to the supermarket!

Cooking was another household chore that left my hands less than par. Once again, my grandma showed off her superhuman prowess by opening the oven and pulling out pots and pans at an excess of 300 degrees with her bare hands, no pot holder or oven mitt in sight. Whenever I was asked to remove a pan from the oven I'd have to scramble to find a towel to fold one hundred different ways and remove the designated pan from the oven. This didn't always prove useful as I set a blaze to several towels and cloths

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