I thought at first the answer to this question was “Everything,” sans car repairs and yard work (I refuse. It’s the least feminist quality about me because I prefer, at least in these areas, to live in the 1950’s Cleaver family world where women don’t get dirty other than powdered sugar falling when they bake, and men are the ones slaving in the yard, garage, and dumpster). Small rant aside, when I actually started thinking about it, what turned out more interesting to me were the things I DON’T do for myself. So, I’m tweaking my list a bit…
1.) The lawns. Before, it was my roommate Sarah. Now, my dad. Soon, my almost husband.
2.) My taxes. My dad is an accountant. He does those too.
3.) Oil change. Once again, mi padre. I wouldn’t know how to if I tried.
4.) Car repairs. My sweet, handy man. He’s quite good.
5.) Car washing. I pay the guys at the corner station for, usually, pretty good work.. Ain’t nobody got time for dat.
6.) My hair. That’s what hairdressers are for. Of course, I style my own hair daily, but I wouldn’t dare color, cut, or highlight it on my own.
7.) That one time I was in Oregon, I didn’t pump my own gas.
8.) Computer repairs. Apple store. Boom!
9.) A good portion of my meals. Once again, my handsome, slightly metro fiancé to the rescue (but this does not mean I can’t, it just means I try to be too fancy when I do and it takes too long).
10.) My nails. Nothing beats a solid pedicure, gel mani, and some good old fashioned time in the spa chair.
So, I think that about covers it. What’s not on the list is actually the answer to my prompt. Turns out, I have a few people I really should thank more often, most notably, the menfolk.