tea

I’m capping this Sunday with a cup of hot milk tea. Never mind that it isn’t the real thing (it’s powdered Lipton tea). Instead of the usual coffee, I decided to have something different tonight—to celebrate the day’s great feat.

And what great feat, you ask?

Well, I heroically tackled domestic chores for the better part of the day. That means doing the laundry (major, major!), vacuum-cleaning (ha-ha-hatsiiing!), floor-waxing (I used the no-buffing-needed variety, especially formulated for lazy singles), and lotsa sweating (no swearing, but almost).

Total estimated man hours spent: 5.

It’s no biggie for most people, but it’s remarkable, even miraculous, for someone as domestically inept as moi. My girlfriend smiled when I proudly reported that I had finally dealt with my condo chores after procrastinating for eternity plus a day and a half. But I dared not take her to my place to inspect the outcome of my day’s striving. I’m sure the lady will find my achievement wanting. Any lady would.

But, hey, this man’s happy enough for tea. Sip, sip.