Obviously as women we all have to deal with that wonderful time of the month...some of our readers are of "advanced age" (is that an ok term, mom?) and have moved on, others have been blessed by modern medicine and no longer get visited once a month...Little Nellie Olson didn't have that option. Maybe that's why she was such a miserable bitch. Pretty sure she had her period ALL.THE.DAMN.TIME. And she walked like she had a stick up her ass because she had a pillow shoved between her legs because let's face it, no one had figured out tampons at that point in time. Doc Baker wasn't that smart. So those poor women had to pluck chickens in the coop to come up with makeshift pads every week that "time" rolled around...yikes...thank GOD for Playtex...never thought those words would leave my mouth! Way better than chicken feathers sticking out of my who-ha for a week.
Last night as I was making a quickie dinner for my kids I again thought of dear Laura Ingalls. That poor woman never had the option of a quickie meal. No matter the weather those women had no choice but to stand in a hot, miserable kitchen and cook a full-on meal three times a day. After making several trips down to the f-ing well to haul big ass buckets of water up to the kitchen to boil....probaby with a miserable, drooling, teething baby strapper to her back. Holy shit. Screw that. You'd have to beat me over the head with a cast iron skillet to get me into my kitchen THREE.DAMN.TIMES every day to make full course meals. Oh hell no. Kill your own damn chicken and gnaw on the raw pieces for all I care. And they didn't have microwaves. They had to stand over a damn open flame. So the next time you want to bitch about making dinner (like I did to my fellow blogger last night) go lock yourself in a closet and light a small fire, bring in all of your cooking supplies and ingredients and try to prepare a meal...THEN we can bitch. Laura never did. At least if she did she never wrote about it while living in her mud hut. She was probably so bitter and tired she couldn't be bothered to write about it. Or just so scarred by the sheer horror of it she didn't want to relive it. I know I wouldn't want to.
Laundry...don't even get me started. Beating stuff against rocks to get it clean? I'd rather beat myself against a rock. If I see "hand wash" on an article of clothing I will put it back on the rack before I even consider purchasing it. I'm that lazy.
Just think about it...we have an answer to EVERYTHING these days. Trouble breastfeeding? Call your La Leche League leader (then say that five times fast). Want to find a new pediatrician? Either google it, call your neighbor, ask at playgroup, call your insurance company...etc... Need a new recipe? Check the internet, go to the bookstore, look it up on your iPhone. Got lost on our way to your preschoolers field trip? Check directions on your GPS, plug it in to your BlackBerry, call a friend to google it for you (if your GPS or BlackBerry is as unreliable as mine is) Poor Laura didn't have those options.
Those poor bitches are lucky they don't know what they were missing out on, they'd be pissed off. I bet they're all rolling over in their graves right now. That's why they all come back and haunt people. Not because they miss someone or are upset about how they died. They are pissed that some asshole came up with all of this stuff after they kicked it. Tylenol and antidepressants and tampons and dishwashers and breastpumps and smartphones. No wonder historical reference material makes them all seem like miserable people with short life expectancies. Now we know why. I would be too. So the next time you think life sucks, just ask yourself...What would Laura Ingalls Wilder Do?