The wandering mind

Who would have guessed that almost twenty years of factory work would prepare me to deal with the mundane tasks known as household chores.

Factory work, especially if you are part of a production line, is nothing more than the same repetitive motion for hours on end.  After a while, if you don't find a coping mechanism, it will drive you crazy.

I've been lucky in that I've always had a vivid imagination.  I can't explain it, but when I was working on the factory floor I had the ability to disconnect my mind and allow it to drift while letting my body go through the motions.  At work I came up with ideas for the books I wanted to write, the nifty little must-have gadget that I was going to draw up plans for, the color of the tights I would wear with my super hero costume.

Hey, whatever gets you through the day.

This wandering mind philosophy would work well with folding laundry.  Or, at least I thought it would.

I have since found is that the main difference in the wandering mind is when it's factory work, for example, it's just a box going down the conveyor.  There's no real connection to it;  so you can cut yourself off from the rest of the world.  Blue skies, sandy beaches, and buxom babes, here I come.

But with laundry you have a connection to everything.  There is no thinking of winning the lottery or being a movie star; it's all thoughts of your family.

As long as they are pleasant thoughts it's all good.  Today I was not so lucky.  I picked up and folded a pair of my daughter's underwear; with cute little monkeys on them.  (But the way, Tera doesn't say monkey, she bellows in a gravelly voice, "MUNG-KAYYY!")

I smile when I think that now I get to be home to watch my daughter grow up. She'll be in high school before I know it........Then I frown; that means she will be dating.  I shudder and think "Man, I'm so not ready for that shit."

I wonder who she will date?  Will he act like me when I was a kid?  God, I hope not.

Then the heinous thought ----- the ugly reality that some day she will be, be......um....you know. Active.  GOD, I cannot handle that.  Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll become a nun.  Although chances are better that she'll end up a goth chick and bring home a boy with a purple mohawk and a bolt in his nose.

Holy crap.  When did I got from hunter to protector?  Ah, hell, who am I kidding?  I never "hunted" any girls.  I'm not sure if I was more Beevis or Butthead in high school.  Perhaps I was a combination of the two.  Either way, looking back I think, "Man, If I had a time machine I'd go back and beat the shit out of myself."

Anyway, I quickly set down the underwear and reach into the dryer for the next article of clothing.  I pull out my sons sleeveless undershirts; popularly known by the unflattering term "wife beater".

I can't vouch for it's validity but I've heard that the phrase "wife beater" was named after the character Stanley (played by Marlon Brando) in the movie A Streetcar name Desire.  Apparently Stanley wore the sleeveless undershirt and beat his wife in the move.....I wouldn't know since I've never seen it.

My son will never refer to this under shirt by that name.  I will be sure of that.

Now my thoughts immediately go back to Tera.  It is folly for me to hope that she will be a celibate and quiet, unassuming, librarian.  Her rambunctious nature simply won't allow it.  I will simply have to do my best to be a supportive father.

Someday she will bring home her first boyfriend (gag).  And someday she will get engaged.....(excuse me, I need to brush my teeth.....I just threw up a little)

Okay, stop!!!!  I need off this ride now!


I think I'll go do the dishes; the laundry can wait.