Things That Shouldn’t Be This Hard But Somehow Are
A Comprehensive Rant On Life’s Most Ridiculous Challenges
Look, I’m not trying to solve world hunger here; I just want to survive adulthood without feeling like I missed some memo everyone else got in preschool. Somehow, a troll who hates happiness has turned even the simplest tasks that every adult should master into the damn Olympic Icecapades.
The most basic life tasks have become these clusterfucks designed by someone who laughs at people who fall down the stairs (ok, I do too sometimes).
Opening literally any package
Why does everything come wrapped, as if it holds secret powers within? I bought a pack of gum yesterday and needed three different tools and a prayer to get into it. Meanwhile, the thing I actually want to stay sealed, like my leftover Chinese food, pops open if I look at it the wrong way.
And don’t get me started on those plastic containers with the “easy open” tab. The ones that break off in your hand, leaving me to gnaw at the corner like a deranged beaver.
Folding fitted sheets
This is clearly a form of demonic forces disguised as housework. The sheet has four corners. I have two hands. The math should work, but somehow I end up with what looks like a fabric burrito that’s entirely given up on life
I’ve watched YouTube tutorials. I’ve asked my mom. I’ve considered hiring a professional. Yet, this bastard piece of fabric always seems to win while I lie there, out of breath, trying to understand how a simple sheet, yes, a fucking sheet, managed to defeat me.
Parallel parking
I have a college degree. I can figure out my taxes (barely). But ask me to fit my car between two other cars, and suddenly I’m having a crisis in the middle of traffic, while people probably mistake me for a sad student driver.
The worst part? Everyone else makes it look so easy, literally gliding in looking majestic as fuck. Meanwhile, I’m over here attempting a 47-point turn, sweating through my shirt, and seriously reconsidering every decision that led me to this exact spot. By the time I've parked, I've aged three years and created fourteen new swear words.
Keeping plants alive
They literally just need water and sunlight. That’s it. Two things. The sun shows up every day without fail, and I have multiple faucets in my house.
Yet somehow, my plants look at me like I’ve had a personal vendetta against them. If I water them too much, they die. If I water them too little, they die. I follow the care instructions exactly; they die out of spite. My friend has a cactus that’s thrived for four years. I killed a cactus in two weeks; A DAMN CACTUS.
Making phone calls
I can video chat with someone on the other side of the planet, but calling to make a dentist appointment? Suddenly, I need three days of mental preparation and a detailed script.
“Hi, I’d like to schedule an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?”
And then I blank. What kind? The teeth kind? The mouth kind? Why is this so fucking hard? I’m obviously calling a DENTIST’S OFFICE.
Then they ask what works for me, and I panic because I don’t actually know my schedule, and now I’m lying about being busy next Tuesday. Thanks, Janice.
Wrapping presents
It’s paper. Around a box. How hard could it be?
Apparently, it was too hard because my wrapped gifts looked like they were packaged by someone having a seizure. The damn wrapping paper never lines up right; there’s always too much here and not enough there, and don’t even mention trying to get the corners to look nice. Have you ever just put those ripped leftovers on spots as if you actually succeeded?
Last Christmas, I wrapped my nephew’s gift like a kindergartner with commitment issues. He loved it, naturally, because he’s five and has better taste than the adults judging me silently from across the room. At some point, you lose the scissors 246 times, and all fucks go out the window anyhow.
Loading the dishwasher “correctly”
According to my partner, there’s apparently a PhD-level system for optimal dishwasher loading. Plates go here, bowls nest this way, and silverware has specific directional requirements.
I just want my dishes clean. I’m not throwing everything in there like I have given up on life, but somehow this is wrong, and I’m “wasting space” and “blocking the water jets.”
It’s a machine that cleans things. I put dirty things in it. The rest should be details.
Sorry, James, not all of us have time to read the Whirlpool bible.
Responding to “How are you?”
This should be simple. They say, “How are you?” I say, “Good, thanks.” Done.
Instead, I panic and overshare (“Well, I consistently worry about whether I’m wasting my life on meaningless tasks, but otherwise I’m fine!”). or get weird and formal (“I am experiencing adequate functionality; thank you for inquiring”).
Sometimes I accidentally respond with “Good, how are you?” when they haven’t even finished asking, and then we’re both confused about what just happened. My middle name is socially inept.
The universal truth
Here’s what I’ve figured out: everyone is pretending these things are easy when they’re actually going into full-blown Karen mode. That person who parallel parks like a seasoned vet? I know damn well they’ve got parking assist. The “plant whisperer”? Yeah, they’re just swapping out dead plants like it’s a legit side hustle.
We’re all just fumbling through life, pretending that we know how to put the fitted sheets from hell on. The phone anxiety? Don’t you dare deny it, Brenda. The only difference is that some people are better at hiding their incompetence.
Now, excuse me while I go burn my fitted sheets.
Doctor Funny’s irreverent, clever style feels right at home with us. That’s why Another Fucking Publication is sharing their stories alongside ours. Check this one out:
