I believe that incompetence can provide personal freedom. Now, I’m not saying that it will produce peace in the Middle East, but well positioned ineptness can give you the power to create your own kind of comfortable life.
I can still picture the horrified look on my husband’s face when he saw the late charges posted onto our account. It was just one bill that I neglected to pay by its due date, but it was undoubtedly the beginning of a trend. After a discussion, we both agreed that in the future he should handle the finances for our household. What a huge relief that was for me, the creative thinking, paperwork-loathing wife.
It occurred to me at that time that there might be something to this whole inability thing. Maybe dumb blondes were really not so dumb. I was beginning to realize that choosing to be incompetent allows you the opportunity to have someone else do your dirty work for you. In other words, when you do something badly, people rarely ask you to do it again.
This idea of playing the part of the poor little woman who was incapable of taking care of things herself, initially sickened me. After all, I don’t back down from challenges. I am a liberated woman who is as competent as any man at a myriad of tasks. But, on the occasion of being relieved from my bill paying duties, I have to admit that a devious thought came to me. I realized that an opportunity presented itself. What other tasks could I perform poorly?
Yes, housekeeping! With very little effort, I have become a successful disaster in the laundry room. I am also incapable of wiping a table without leaving a few crumbs or sticky spots behind. And, why would anyone want to wash dishes or empty a dishwasher? Just drop a few plates and crash! mission accomplished.
Certainly, some allowances would soon have to be made for my newfound ineptness. It wouldn’t be entirely fair for my dear husband to have to do all of the housework. That’s when paper plates, and Karen, my housekeeper came into our lives.
Initially I felt badly about my manipulated freedom. Then I realized that everyone else seemed to already know about this little scheme. When I asked my housekeeper to handle the chore of grocery shopping, for some reason this otherwise brilliant woman couldn’t seem to tell the difference between a pepperoni pizza box and one that had a picture of a plain pizza on it. After weeks of bringing home the wrong items, and a gift for turning a one hour shopping trip into a three hour adventure, she was relieved of that duty.
Guess who does the shopping now? That’s right, my husband! But don’t feel sorry for him. This man who runs a company with over 50 employees is somehow incapable of wrapping a gift or choosing his own clothes. Hmmm. I believe I am on to him!
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