Why don’t you just …?

BBC Radio 4 has recently broadcast a three-episode series ‘Walks like a duck’ in which Louise Halling records her experience of living with muscular dystrophy for twenty years. It is a sometimes raw account of the frustrations she feels with her condition, an emotion that I identify with only too well. In one part of the broadcast she asks her husband, Mark, if he can think of any compensating factors, a ‘gift’ that muscular dystrophy has brought into their life. He pauses and then says ‘No, it is all s**t’.

I have been pondering the same question and have come up with one positive – I am no longer subject to the tyranny of Sally’s ‘to-do’ list. Throughout our married life, random and varied DIY tasks have found their way onto ‘the list’, often preceded by the question “Why don’t you just …?”. Those four words became a phrase that would cause my heart to sink as I waited to find out what project lay before me.

Many of the tasks were tackled relatively promptly but one notable “why don’t you just…?” task – the replacement of an ugly bit of cement flooring with a wooden floorboard – hung around malevolently on that list for nearly 19 yeàrs before being tackled when we were getting the house ready to rent. (Why is it most DIY tasks are completed for the enjoyment of the person who is about to buy/rent your house rather than for your own benefit)?

I was discussing the “why don’t you just …?” phrase with a friend and he said his wife’s version is “would you like to …?”. There is often a simple answer to a question like that 😂, but I digress.

The onset of muscular dystrophy means that most of the things that Sally would hitherto have put on the list are now beyond my physical capacity and have been replaced by another list, this time setting out tasks for Sally to do on top of the things she is already doing. The new to-do list is generated by me saying “we need to think about …”.  This is a much less honest phrase than ‘why don’t you just‘ as the ‘we’ really means Sally, despite implying a potential partnership whereas the ‘you’ in Sally’s phrase is totally unambiguous.

I realise too that Sally possesses far more patience than I do. My willingness to leap into action previously was dependent on a number of factors, most notably the level of distraction I was facing (my family still recall me spending fifteen minutes on Christmas morning cutting up old shirts for bicycle rags rather than concentrating on the immediate task in hand, which was the opening of presents). In most cases she bided her time and waited for the pressure of the ‘to-do’ list to work its influence. I on the other hand find it almost unbearable when a “we need to think about …” doesn’t instantly command Sally’s total attention.

At the start of this piece I described this freedom from the ‘to-do’ list as a positive, but in truth I miss the list. I miss being able to get on with jobs at a time of my choosing. I miss wielding the chain saw, the log splitter and sundry other alarming bits of kit. I miss climbing up a ladder to fix a light or putting a coat of oil on the decking. I miss the satisfaction of a job well done.

I miss having functioning arms and legs.

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