Like a bull on steroids

I’m about as domesticated as a bull on steroids. I would think that wouldn’t be too domesticated, so that’s pretty much how I am. I don’t cook, I don’t bake, I don’t really clean, I don’t dust, I don’t do a lot of stuff that would ‘domesticate’ me. Now, does this mean I don’t help out with our apartment at all? Nah, of course not, I’m sure any person would get sick of doing everything themselves while the other person just kind of kicks back and relaxes, watching the one person toil over an oven with full view of the TV in front of them.

I like to do stuff because I don’t get asked to do it.

Wait, what? Yes, you read it, I don’t like to get asked to do stuff. I don’t like to be asked to do something at work so I make it my mission to already do it so if they do ask me, hey, can you do it? I can say, “Yeah, yeah, read your mind, already done! Ha!” When I went over to the folks to do my laundry (screw paying for it, I’ll keep on making the trek over there for a while) I did a quick clean and sweep. Garbage, thrown down the shoot, replaced the bag, put away clean dishes, put in dirty dishes into the dishwasher and then headed out.

Oh, and a dishwasher? Took me a while to figure that out. I’m stuck in ancient time where everything was done by hand. The first time I did a dishwasher run for the man I turned the bowls right-side up and all the water collected in the bowl instead of running off. Whoops. He laughed at me and my feathers got ruffled because I tried to do something nice and he was making fun of me.

So, whenever I do a domesticated act I always ask him if he appreciates it. He always says yes, and I try to always say when he does something to help out, or help me out, or make my day easier, a big thank you because I know that it goes both ways.