One of my guilty pleasures in life is a little show called Family Guy. Yes, I know it’s crude, politically incorrect, and raunchy; but it is also one of the funniest and most entertaining shows out there. Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I only treat myself to watching Family Guy once the kiddos are asleep. On one of the episodes of Family Guy, Stewie, the evil genius baby, creates a clone of himself to take care of all of his unpleasant tasks. Stewie instructs his slack jawed and unintelligent clone to go to birthday parties, wash his back and do other menial tasks for him. It is bliss for Stewie, but all good things must come to an end, and in this case Clone Stew dissolves into a puddle of blood and guts on the kitchen floor.
The show got me thinking how I would utilize a clone of myself. (Indulge me here, it was and I couldn’t sleep) Imagine the possibilities. Those mornings where I lie in bed and try to reason with myself that the kids would be okay without breakfast. I mean lunch is only a few hours away and they can deal with a growling stomach for a few hours while I sleep in, right?! Or the times the baby craps in the tub and you have to play chase the turd with a plastic cup. How incredibly awesome would it be to ring a bell or shoot a text to your clone to get their rear ends in there. How about those nights where you want to go on a mom’s night out and there is no babysitter? Who better to watch the kids than well, you? When you returned home, the house would be cleaned to your liking, the kids in bed, the DVR would have been set to record your favorite shows, and to be honest the hubby would have been satisfied if it was one of his frisky nights. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but this is my fantasy.
What would the Real Me be doing while Clone Me was doing all my work. To be honest, I’d gain about 30lbs, watch marathons of Billy the Exterminator and Gene Simmons Family Jewels, knit, eat, read, eat some more, and have many uninterrupted potty breaks. Then I got to thinking about all the things I would be missing out on. I would miss out on the magical laughs my baby makes when I am chasing the turds in the tub. I wouldn’t see their faces light up, or hear them say I’m the best mama in whole world when I’ve surprised them with French toast for breakfast that morning. It’s a slippery slope and jealousy would take an ugly toll. Before I knew it I would be plotting a murder of my clone. And yes, I’m ashamed to admit that I would have them dig their own hole first.
While writing this my husband commented that I should be ashamed. My clone would be a slave and slavery ended a long, long time ago. I looked up at him in astonishment and let it fly. The clone would be doing the same things I do everyday for him and the kids. He had the decency to look a tad apologetic. This fantasy about having a clone benefited me. I gave my husband a list of things that I would have the clone do in a day’s time and he in turn gave me his list of clone work. We sat down and divided up tasks to make each other’s lives a little easier. He took exception to me pimping my clone out for him, but I think he’s willing to take what he can get. This should be an exercise used in marriage counseling all across the country, the list making, not the pimping. It really made us talk about the areas where we felt we needed help. There were things my husband had no idea about, and was more than willing to roll up his sleeves to help out, and vice versa. I’m not saying that the added assistance will last long, but it is definitely nice right now. Who needs a clone when they have a fantastic husband like mine. So, thank you Family Guy, for enriching my marriage. Who would have thought it?
No comments:
Post a Comment