Man-i-tasking!

Hey blogger buddies! Today we’re delving into a hot topic (well, maybe not so hot) about multitasking. We all know the research behind women as capable multitaskers, but what about us dudes?

My friend Ted thinks so. He calls it man-i-tasking. Why don’t we peek in and see how it’s working for him?

Bollock’s Pet Supplies

December 13, 2022

7:56 AM

Bae: Can’t wait for dinner! Where r u taking me?

Ted: Fuhgeddaboudit!

Bae: Botticellis! I nu it! Luv the Ribollita! Yummee! Tiramisu for dessert!

“Morning Ted. Hey, did you remember to restock the dog food yesterday, before you left?”

“You bet your ah . . . great hair, I did.”

“Hey, I know you’re not on the clock yet, but I’ve got a video call in a few moments. Do you think you can send a quick text for me?”

“Um, on my phone?”

Bae: Hello?

Ted: Txt u in a sec.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking that. Use the one we gave you, the one sitting on the desk by your elbow.”

“Sure, no prob, Susan. I’m just finishing up with Bae, I mean Jen. What’s it about?”

Bae: Why? Watz up?

Ted: Just a sec

“The Christmas Party tonight. There’s been some last-minute changes. I need to let everyone know the details, ASAP. We open in less than five, can you send it now? There’s a lineup at the door already, so I don’t want it forgotten.”

“Okay . . . shoot, Boss Lady. I can man-i-task like the best!”

“Um okay. Here goes. We regret to inform you that due to a kitchen fire last night at Chichi Piquant, we’ve had to change venues. We’ve leased plenty of . . .

Bae: Why u ignoring me? Tell me watz up!

“yxvy hjklmnohhhh invgep dklwpoub

Ted: It’s Boss Lady. K?

Bae: So? U got 4 mins.

“qzxxy ahnghh for . . .

Bae: Tell her!

Ted: She’s Boss!

“6 pm. Remember to bring  . . .

Bae: I gotta’ come down there and do it?

Ted: Just a sec!

Bae: U txtin’ wat she says rite now! On the work phone! Pussy!

Ted: It’s not like that!

“exysty. Oh, and . . .

Bae: Hollow back man!

Ted: I ain’t no!

Bae: Gwen Stephanie forever! Ya!

Ted: ROLF!

“You got all that, Teddy? Good. Gotta’ go! Be sure to clean the gerbil cages at some point today.”

Ted: U got it, Boss Lady!

Bae: Huh? Oh ya! U rite about that!

“Right on it, Boss Lady Susan. Just hitting the old group chat ‘send’ button.”

Ted: Bae, I gotta’ go open up shop.

Ted: Bae?

Ted: Bae? I mean it, some kid’s kicking the door.

Bae: Um, u sent this to everyone at our work?

Ted: Ya, why?

Bae: Read it and remember what I said about man-i-tasking.

Ted: Not a thing, got ya. 😉

 “Hey, Ted, can I see you in my office?”

“Susan! Hey, I was just about to open up. I thought you had a meeting.”

“I did, I do, but something’s come up. Just a quick chat. Okay? Hey Mike, can you take a break from stocking shelves and open up? Great, thanks.”

“That’s it, Ted, come in and close the door.”

“What’s this about? I sent the text like you asked. I know, I should have stopped talking to Jen. But you know how she is.”

“I do, she’s worked here for a long time. But you’re right, you should have stopped. One thing at a time, remember? Man-i-tasking is a myth.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay. Here’s what I asked you to send: ‘We regret to inform you that due to a kitchen fire at Chichi Piquant, we’ve had to change venues. We’ve leased plenty of space for the kid’s Santa party, as this will keep things orderly.

It’ll be at Crème Emporium for 6pm. Remember to bring a pet toy donation. Rawhides are always a chewy favorite! Oh, and dress up as your favorite Holiday character! Susan will be going as Dotty Elf. Yes, she’s a bit sass!’

“Dotty was a favorite character in a book I used to love, by the way.”

“So, what the problem?”

“Here’s what you texted not only the entire store, but the entire chain. My bosses were a bit ‘curious’ to say the least.

 ‘We regret to inform you that due to a kitchen fire at Chichi Piquant, we’ve had to change venues. We’ll leash all the kids for the Santa Party, it’ll keep them orderly.  It’ll be at the Crematorium for 6pm. Remember to bring your chewy hides, as they’re a favorite. Huh? Dunno’ about that one, but Susan’s telling me what to type. Anyways, she’s going as Naughty Elf because she’s a bad ass.’ ”

“Am I fired?”

“Is man-i-tasking a myth?”

“Er . . .”

“Is it?”

“Yes, if I can keep my job.”

“Done.”

Bae: Told you so!

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Tough Nut Negotiations

“So here we have our, ah, deluxe bachelor street suite. Perfect for the fast-paced lifestyle of a made guy like you. It’s only 49.99 acorns per month . . . nope, no cupules or stalks accepted as payment for the .99 . . . nuts only.

“It’s quaint, and even turns into a swimming pool when it rains! Cool, huh! Hey, buddy, why the face? Look, I’m not buying your story of just wanting to retrieve some dime you dropped in there. And sure, you’ll fit a bit snug, but that’s why you’re getting it for a song.

“I’ve gotta’ be honest with you. Can I be honest? Please, without you freaking out about talking chipmunks? You think you guys have the monopoly on language and capitalism? You do! Don’t you? Pssh! What a schmuck!

“Naw, never mind that . . .  what I just said. Fug-get-about-it! Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m gonna’ tell it straight. This is the best thing for you. Yah, I hear you going on about the whole, ‘casual attire, out for a walk thing.’ But here’s the thing . . . I’ve been doing this since before this was a thing, and I’m telling you that your whole thing that you’ve got going on here, well that doesn’t holler, Oak Heights.”

Awe . . . the pitter-patter!

Just sitting here this fine morning remembering some shenanigans, yes, shenanigans . . . wait, am I on Facebook? Never mind, I’ll keep the word. As I was saying, thinking way back yonder to some of the crazy things the kiddos did.

This particular incident happened during the month of, “Brrrr!!”

That’s what some of us Canadians (or maybe it’s just me), call February because it’s easier to pronounce with chattering teeth.

“Brrrr!,” typically has temperatures somewhere north of -30 degrees Celsius, that’s about -22 Fahrenheit for our southern neighbors.

Now, the exact transgression of Isabel, our youngest, escapes me. Perhaps she’d zigzagged a pen across big sister, Amanda’s, latest fridge art, or Picasso’d her sibling’s prized teddy bear with a Sharpie and had coerced our cat, Marble, into upholding the Law of Omerta.

Being the sole adult in the domicile that evening, I sentenced her to a ‘time out’ in The Corner.  No doubt, in that cozy little triangle of contemplation, she reflected with great remorse on the “heinous” doings.

The Kleenex budget was yanked into the red, by the fistful. The boxes emptied, Big Sis’ dabbed the last raindrops from her cheeks and glared at the condemned before stomping to her upstairs bedroom.   

Isabel was paroled after three minutes, one minute per year of age . . . that seemed to be the accepted formula back then. She boldly stepped across the perimeter of the invisible box and wonder of wonders! Knew that formula worked! Never a doubt.

“I’m a changed girl. Sorry for what I’d done. Yessir. Nope, never lift a pinky against Amanda again . . . except to love her to pieces.”

 A hug of reconciliation? Oh, okay . . . I suppose since you both just stuck out your tongues at the same time we’ll just call it a draw. Yes, head on back to your bedroom wall finger painting, Amanda. I’m glad to see that you’ve chosen oil based.   

Satisfied for the skirmish was over, I elected to empty the garbage can and bring the bag to the lidded garbage bin in the garage. We don’t have trash pickup in these here parts, so we keep it in there until I can drive it to the dump.

I had to sidestep little Miss Golden Hair Ringlets, as I descended the two steps into the coat room that opened to the garage.

The garage had no working vehicle door at that time, so every cubic square of air was jam packed with icicle-toothed no-see-um’s, that surged in via that gaping maw from the tar black country night. Even the moon and the stars had fled these lands, and the overhead fluorescent lights, forcibly confined, had chosen hibernation.

The garbage bin was just outside the coatroom door, so I slipped on my crocs, left the coat to rest on the hook . . . my pj’s would suffice for the short trip. Great move, right, professor?

The last thing I saw, just before closing the door, was the cherub faced shenaniger (repurposed for this post). Those beautiful, blonde, curly cues framed an adorable smile as she waved to me from the upper step. “Good luck.”

You bet, another brilliant move, Holmes.

I stepped into the garage and quickly shut the door behind me to keep out Jack Frost’s invisible minions. Good Luck?

I shall never forget the heart melting pitter-patter of little feet across the coat room floor, seconds before the click of the lock being engaged.

Yes, Mary, here, let me pour you another glass of Perrier and imagine how splendid it will always be! Is the baby kicking? Hmmm . . . maybe she’s trying to tell us something?

Sorry, back to the story. Faced with becoming an ice sculpture, I diplomatically begged, nay, cried, for the young lady to open the door. Awe, there’s that adorable giggle.

Mind you, there was a spare key, but that would mean crawling over piles of half finished projects, just waiting for the chance to maim. Pay back for being relegated to the land of misfits.   

I yelled for Amanda, who was, by that time, probably in the bathroom using the ‘good towels’ to clean the paint off her fingers.

Welp, nothing for it but to go cross country. Thankfully the wall to my left was clear of debris, so I followed it and ran for the front lawn. The front door was unlocked, I remembered that much. Now, if I was a snow hare, the trip would have been quick and painless.

But people aren’t snow hares, and when crocs hit the crunchy top layer of “Brrr!” snow, well, they crash the party until they hit rock bottom. About knee deep in this case. The ice moles were less than pleased, but the no-see-um’s had a banquet.

Yep, every step was like slogging through a freshly poured slushy, sans the sweetness and color. Well, maybe the color, because we owned a dog.

The worst part was passing the bay window, just after both of my crocs abandoned me. I witnessed a mass of golden ringlets flying past the windowsill, headed straight for the front door.

Oh, Mary, listen! Is it my imagination, or can you also hear the pitter-patter and the giggles?

Oh no, you don’t! She did. Click!

If you’ve ever seen Fred Flintstone pounding on the door after Dino locked him outside, you’ll get the idea of what happened next.

No giggling now . . . just a thumb in that grinning mouth. The other hand was busy with the necessary work of twirling those ringlets into coils.

When telling this story, someone once commented that I should be embarrassed at being outrun by a three year old. Um, beg pardon? You do realize that those suckers can move with the speed of a velociraptor over open ground, right buddy? I swear they make the same noises, too. At least when they’re racing for a prized toy . . . you know the sound, that guttural squeal, “Miiiinnnneeee!” Or maybe it’s more like Chewbacca?

I owe my digits to Amanda for coming to the rescue, though I only use one on each hand to type.

She moved in like a gift shop sized King Kong! Nothing violent, just blocked her sister and opened the door.

That was a decade ago, and it’s a funny tale now, but not so much at the time. Don’t get me wrong, both my daughters are loving and kind.

I really don’t think a three-year-old can conceive of the dangers of locking someone outside mid-winter. But nonetheless, I now always wear my winter coat and boots when taking out the trash. 😊  

Photo Prompt For Kreative Kue

Good morning, afternoon, or night. Today I’ve decided to participate in author Keith Edgar Channing’s “Kreative Kue” Please follow the link to Keith’s fantastic blog.

Here is the photo prompt:

“Pshaw! Really Josh, was it so morally bankrupt? Flushing the goldfish down the toilet and framing Sylvester? My actions liberated the poor thing, forced to swim in circles in that glass dungeon, that’s no life. ‘Course the dummy had the memory of well, a fish. Irritating! ‘Oh, look! A castle! Oh look! A castle!’ All day and everyday! Sheesh! Did everyone a favor!

“Yup! Looks like I’m really paying for it, huh, Josh? Enjoying the view, Sylvester? Oh wait, you can’t because you’re outside for the day and the curtains are closed. That’ll teach you for clawing the stuffing from my bed. This is waaay better, anyhow! The best part is, I know Dad will bring me to the store to get a new one this afternoon! All you’ll be able to do is meow for forgiveness as we drive away.

 “Lucky for you Josh, that you’re a budgie. Frank’s now working at Marty’s Mattress Emporium; flys around jerking his beak towards every mattress, ‘Soooofft!’

“Parrots who squawk get shipped down the block! Ahhh! This is the life! Worship me! Worship me!”  

Flip A Story

Today I thought I’d try something new, well at least new to me. I grabbed a cook book, not sure why, probably needed more for breakfast, and wait for it . . . flipped the pages, letting my finger do the talking.

Here’s what it “decided”:

“Special delivery!”

“Hi Martin, how was your day?”

“Just three near death experiences with a moving van, a taxi, and some guy who thought the bike lane was the expressway. Ran out of muscle cream, so my glutes are bawling, but all in a day’s work. Got a great tip from a receptionist with a piece of spinach stuck in her teeth . . . pretty smile, though.”

“Umhmm . . . well, just take your sweaty self to the shower. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Whoa, just a second there, what you got cookin’ good lookin’? Smells good!”

“Um, just a bit of this and that.”

“Uh, huh, just a bit of this and that, hey? Lemme see.”

“No, you’ll sweat in the stew. To the shower you go.”

“Wait, what’s this page turned to? Chicken Coq Au Vin? Sounds fancy for ‘barnyard scavenger hunt cook up’. Even pulled out the Dutch oven, I see. You know it’s Tuesday and usually that means mac and cheese. What’s the occasion? Wait! Really? Cover and bake for up to one hour and forty-five minutes? I’m starving! Kate, what’s going on?”

“Here, eat this, take a shower and we’ll talk more.”

“Ommm oooh.”

“You like? Good bread, isn’t it? More? You’re shaking your head. Be careful, smaller bites.”

 “Kinda’ hard when you shoved half a loaf in my mouth. I’m not leaving till you spill the goods. Oh no! Your mother’s not moving in here, is she? Wait, nope, she’s too busy researching the perfect formula for winning at blackjack. Not enough room in this apartment for her spreadsheets and supercomputers. Yuck! A cooked mushroom to the face!”

“Stop it, baby, or a potato is next. Now git in that shower.”

“Ok, sheesh. Going, alright?”

“Hey! Martin, what the heck are you doing? Get your sweaty ear off my belly!”

“Hey, buddy! I know you’re in there and can hear me! It’s Daddy! I know it’s dark and cozy in there but if you . . . aghh!”

“Warned you about the potato. I’m not pregnant, nothing’s going on. Please, shower.”

“Harsh, Kate. Alright, I’m going, but when it’s my turn to cook, I’m making tacos and I’ll put just a slight crack in each shell so that everything will spill on you.”   

“I’m trembling, now get.”

“Going, stop rolling your eyes.”

 “Finally.”

“I heard that! Hey! What’s this fishbowl doing on the bathroom counter? Oh, no way! How did you? Sea Monkeys!! You got Sea Monkeys! How? You even put a small castle in there and a plastic sword! Kate, you’re amazing!”

“I know. I got the sword from the dollar store. You know, the ones they put in drinks. The Sea Monkeys, well thank you Amazon. Martin, you’re sloshing water on the floor. You don’t need to run with the bowl.”

“Sorry, but you have no idea! Ever since Nancy—”

“Yes, I’ve heard the story of your evil sister flushing them down the toilet. It’s okay Martin, you’re safe and so are the monkeys.”

“Now we just have to name these little fellas.”

“How do you know they’re all guys? They’re literally just white blobs.”

“You can’t tell, seriously? Look at their little pointy things. Back to biology 101 for you, huh. Just kidding, put down the spoon. I’m going to name all six. Here we have Thor, then Kong, this one’s Konan, Zeus, Hercules, and Pete.”

“Pete?”

“Yes, Pete. Why not? It’s a good name.”

“Ooookayyy . . . now how are you going to tell them apart? Martin? Um, Martin, hey, no, put down the markers!”