I Believe the Term is Helpmate. Not Workmate.

What is with you guys? Can you not do one simple thing for yourselves? Or do you take advantage of your life partner because you're a lazybones?

You would think Hick is a fairly capable person, trusted by his factory to advise them on, and travel transcontinentally to package and ship, machines worth a million dollars. That's why Hick makes the big bucks, twice as much as Val, a career educator with a couple of degrees under her belt.

Wednesday night, Hick told me that he needed me to figure out what he charged on our credit card. That he needed a way to turn euros into dollars.

REEEEEEEE!

Perhaps Hick has pissed off his BFF Google. Because even a child knows that all you have to do is type in a couple words, and presto-changeO, a box pops up that does it for you! All you have to do is type in your amount. I tried to explain this concept to Hick.

"I tried that, but I didn't have internet."

"Then you can do it tomorrow. All you have to do is type in a couple words. The computer will do it for you!"

"I have the receipts in euros. But I need the exact amounts in dollars! Don't you call the credit card? And it tells you how much? Because you always say, 'Hey! Did you spend thirty-eight dollars and forty-one cents at the flea market? Because there's a charge that says miscellaneous.'"

"No. That's the debit card. I call the bank every weekend to listen to the checking account. I see the credit card bill when it comes at the end of the month."

"But you can get online and look up the credit card bill. I did it! But I didn't know if you'd set a password. So I didn't go in the account."

"I never check the credit card online. And how did you do that if you didn't have internet?" He had no answer to that one.

Seriously? Hick's workplace is off the grid? I think not. Sure, it's not as much fun to convert euros to dollars as it is to look at pictures of classic cars, and determine the value of certain auction items. But it can be done! At work! Where Hick should be doing his own job, like turning in his expense account (aka Thevictorian personal credit card) for reimbursement.

But no. He wanted Val, with her own full-time job, to do it for him. Val. Who most certainly does not come home from work with a website address and password and ask Hick to complete her Unit of Instruction with Student Learning Objectives. No sirree, Bob! Nor has she ever brought home 100 assignments a day for him to grade, nor lessons for him to plan, nor copies for him to make, nor a list of parents for him to contact.

I looked up his converter for him. And I called the credit card line. I gave him a long list of miniscule Internal Debit Adjustments. And the charges. And called him down to my dark basement lair to show him that all he needed to do was type in convert euro to usd and voila, top of the page, there was his magical converter.

AND...only the day before, after Val had baked some fish for Hick's supper, and made a salad, and a garlic breadstick, and handed him the butter for his baked potato...Hick turned from the counter where he was plating his meal, and handed that butter back to Val, knowing full well that she has been cutting back, and was having tuna salad, which does not require butter...WITH FRIG II RIGHT BEHIND HIM, CLOSER THAN VAL!

Uh huh. All Hick had to do was pirouette, taking nary a step, pull open FRIG II's door, and put that butter on the shelf. But no. Here's Val. She's made to do my bidding. She's the woman. She must put away the butter. Not me. Even if it means I have to take a step and lean over precariously to hand it to her, and she has to walk across the kitchen to get to FRIG II.

What is with you guys?