“It’s easier to just do it myself,” I mutter. A dishtowel hangs from my hand like a tail swaying against my hip.
Chores, those supposedly helpful contributions are about to be my undoing. I re-order the haphazard pile of weeping plastic containers, dry them again, and rearrange the stack neatly in the right cupboard.
“Seriously,” I wonder, “is it even worth it if I have to re-do everything?”