The Literalist

I’ve been doing odd jobs for Dad—activating a credit card, redeeming reward points, cleaning the carpet, and changing his bed and washing the linens. I told Daughter that I wanted her to go get the sheets off his bed and the blanket with blood on it. I gathered the laundry supplies and told her to follow me down to the laundry room with the linens. When we got down there, I took the sheets and began treating the blood spots, and noticed there wasn’t a blanket. Daughter insisted I hadn’t told her to bring the blanket. I sent her back to the apartment to get the blanket with the blood on it. She returned with the blanket, and by this time I was done treating the sheets.

“Where’s the pillow case?”

“You didn’t tell me you wanted the pillow case.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you understood that when we change the sheets, we also change the pillow case. Please go get it.”

She returned with the pillow cases, and the second blanket.

“I didn’t ask for that blanket.”

“Well, I brought it.”

I guess she figured that she’d prevent me from sending her back for anything else.

I never know when she’s being deliberately difficult, and when she really doesn’t understand what it is I’m asking. I suspect it varies from day to day.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to make the bed by myself or ask her to help me. Some days she has issues with spatial things and understanding my directions. On those days, trying to work together on something like making a bed is an exercise in frustration for both of us. I’ll probably do it by myself.