Changing the air filter around the house isn’t anything tedious. It’s a ho-hum chore, ranking right up there with changing out the toilet paper or changing a light bulb. When it comes to the heavy stuff, I’m the work horse because I’m younger and relatively more physically fit. Like when we upgraded our vanity sink earlier this year.
One afternoon after work, I got home as usual. I was getting ready for dinner, changing into more comfortable clothes when I noticed that my chair in my room was askew. And then I noticed that the stuff I usually stockpile on it was on my bed.
OK, so my impeccable sleuthing skills told me that someone had tried to lift my heavy wooden chair to use it for the purposes of changing the air filter. And the reason I knew this is that someone could climb on the sturdy arm rests to reach up to the ceiling where our one particular air vent was, out in the hallway. Further, the reason that I knew this is that I’d usually be the one who climbs up to do it, because I’m more steady on my feet on this sturdy chair.
While no one else in the house could do it without toppling over and hurting him/herself.
So Began the Snarking
“Someone moved my chair.” I said to Zen Mum when I went into the kitchen.
Zen Mum is as loyal as a German Shepard. As tight-lipped as a clam with its shell clamped soundly shut.
“Your father tried to change the air filter.” She promptly told me. “I told him that he can’t climb that chair but he still tried.” She raised her voice as Zen Master could hear her from the living room. “He could have fallen down.”
[Refresher: Zen Mum is 70 years old while Zen Master is 77 years old, a stroke survivor and a big Pain in the Ass (PITA).]
Zen Master shuffled into the kitchen. “What? What did I do?”
“No matter how many times I told him not to do it, he still does it. I told him to wait for Sally!” She fumed at him, but he just shrugged. “So? I can do it.”
“No, you can’t!”
“Yes, I can!”
And then I threw myself into that mess, glaring at Pop. “You’re nuts! How many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do it. Don’t touch the air filter.”
He lifted his right hand, muttering down at it. “I would’ve but this stupid hand doesn’t have any strength.” But he refocused and sternly looked at me. “I keep telling you – we need to change the air filter! We have to change it every three months!”
Changing the Air Filter
So I lifted my heavy wooden chair out into the hallway and steadily climbed on to it. Zen Master came shuffling over with the clean air filter in one hand, the other hand gripping the chair tightly. It took only a few moments for me to change the air filter and when I was finally done, feet firmly down on the ground, Zen Master tried to lift my heavy wooden chair.
He’s a glutton for punishment, because any time he throws a muscle out or strains anything, boy, the bitching can go on for days. And guess who’d be the lucky person to rub the herbal ointment on him because Zen Mum doesn’t have the strength to do it?
Yeah, it’s a vicious cycle when it comes to changing the air filter.
So when he saw my evil glare, he shrugs innocently. “I didn’t do anything.” Then he takes the filthy old one away while I take care of my wooden chair.
You might wonder: Sally in the Zen, why in the world don’t you use a ladder?
Because it’s out in the garage and I’ve zero interest in lugging it in and then lugging it out. Yes, I’m too damn lazy.
On to the next!
Sally in the Zen
