Make like a teabag

There are times in my life when I seem to step back from myself and get a whole new perspective on Jen. I had one of those incidents this morning.

I was standing at the sink doing the washing up. That behaviour is natural enough for someone who doesn't have a dishwasher. So far I'm normal.

I was up to the elbows in hot soapy water, making it about the first time my hands had been warm since I got out from under the blankets this morning. Unfortunately, my nose was at that stage of cold where I can never be certain if it is (a) just cold, or (b) if it is starting to run. The act of blowing (which would satisfy my curiosity as to whether it was a or b above and probably make me more comfortable) would involve the removal of wet rubber gloves, and the trip to the bedroom to find a tissue. Then the nearly impossible task of getting wet rubber gloves back on, made worse by the fact that my hand size is too small for one size of gloves and on the brink of too tight for the next one down (If I buy the larger ones I drop things because the fingers are way too long).

So this is where the whole thing falls down. You see, the stainless steel sink doesn't keep the water hot for all that long at this time of year, so I don't have the time to blow my nose because I will have lost the hot water window. So I soldiered on, trying to get the dishes finished before the water reached the official temperature range known as 'tepid at best'.

Several deep sniffs later I realised that having my hands in warm water was encouraging my inner Jen to process and desire to release all the liquid I'd consumed at breakfast. But with only a few more things to go, and the water still reasonably hot I couldn't go just yet. That's when the voices in my head started (and where I began to realise I'm not as normal as I like to think)...

The first was some talking head advocating the small ways we can be more energy and water efficient. Running another lot of hot washing up water was not an option. (I hope the planet appreciates it!)

The next was my Mum, 'you should have gone before we came'. (Thanks, Mum.)

The third was some miscellaneous doctor on TV saying that women end up with bladder problems because:

1. we go when we don't need to on the off chance that we'll need to go later when it would be inconvient, and
2. we hold on to finish tasks when we should go.

(Surely that's not correct?)

It was then that my mind stepped back and I found myself jiggling (and still sniffing). My hands working as quickly as they could to finish the designated task, but the rest of me doing a little dance on the spot. Like a three year old who doesn't want to stop playing a fun game just to go to the toilet. Except that I don't even like washing up.

Let's just say that it was a relief to finish on more than one level. Oh, the sacrifices we make for the planet. And the difference this particular sacrifice would make?

...Approximately none.