I rail when the minister tells us to bow our heads, so I look up, out and sideways rather than dip my chin. Instead of asking for help with a too-tight lid, I vice-grip the pickle jar between my legs, and use a strap wrench to turn the top. I even lotion my own back by rubbing up against a shower tile I've strategically squirted with moisturizer to hit that itchy spot just under my left chicken wing.
Last night, after 3 weeks of waiting for someone to help me carry up the recliner, I couldn't wait any longer. I went to the basement, turned the chair upside down and laced my leather belt around the metal underbelly; now I had a good strong handle. With my elbow looped in the circle of the belt, I dragged that dumb chair to the bottom of the steps. Regrouping for a minute, I assumed a sumo wrestler pose and a gave a hearty grunt to gather my strength. Then I rolled that chair end over end up each cluster of stairs until I was at the top step where I had a rug waiting. Gliding on top of the carpet, the chair slid effortlessly across the hardwood floor as if it were polished ice.
With the recliner positioned in front of the TV, I sat down, popped out the signature footrest and enjoyed my evening with a steaming mug of hot water. I watched a show about Alaskan homesteaders who do absolutely everything for themselves. This 3-year-old was very proud of herself indeed!