I have fantasies. Sick fantasies.
It all started after many years of housewivery, when I realized that there really was no end in sight. No end to the dirty socks, the crumbs, the dog hair, the car pools, the homework, the soap scum, the grocery shopping. My daily tasks were not only completely devoid of mental stimulation, they never seemed to be done. Never.
No sooner would I wipe a glob of toothpaste from inside the kids’ sink, when another one would appear. Dust particles descended stealthily through the air every second of the day, making a mockery of my weekly furniture polishing. I swore the dirty laundry was breeding in its baskets just to spite me. If I had a nickel for every time I thought the house was clean, and then saw a tumbleweed of dog hair blow across the floor, I’d be rich.
I started to realize that I was on a never-ending treadmill of mind-numbingly boring and mundane daily chores. Even vacations didn’t seem to bring relief because our family trips were a heck of a lot of work, and I found myself saying things afterward like, “Sheesh, I need a vacation from our vacation.”
Then one day, most likely while wiping spaghetti sauce splatter off the inside of the microwave for the umpteenth time, my mind began to wander. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain, a wicked thought was hatched.
What if, just what if, I sustained some kind of non-life-threatening injury or illness that would require me to be in the hospital for a couple weeks, I thought, and my eyes widened at the exciting prospect of mandatory bed rest, three squares a day, and my family forced to fend for itself.
But what kind of non-life-threatening injury or illness? I wondered. Perhaps a large can of pumpkin could fall from the pantry, striking me in the head and causing amnesia for which I would need monitoring in the hospital? Nah, too far-fetched. Maybe I could trip on one of the kids’ scooters in the driveway and break a hip? Nah, too painful. What if I got a bad batch of wrinkle cream from the drug store that caused my skin to fall off? Nah, too disfiguring.
This little “what if” game became its own welcome escape from my daily grind, and I found myself having fun trying to think of the perfect hospitalization fantasy. But before I could fine-tune my dream, the fantasy became a reality when my doctor scheduled me for minor “lady surgery” requiring an overnight hospital stay and two weeks of bed rest at home.
While fantasizing, I may have rejected this type of situation as “too embarrassing,” but I’ll take what I can get. So grab me some pain meds and let the laundry be damned. I’m gonna milk this for all it’s worth.