That’s it. Surely life is too short for me to spend more than half an hour trying to wrestle open a flippin’ jam jar. So I’m putting this jar down and I’m sitting down to write a vacancy advert saying, ‘Wanted: a Butler’.
I won’t be the first in (err, fictional) history to want one. I mean, take Lara Croft. She had her very own old Winston. And didn’t Mrs Addams have Lurch?
Of course I’ll live if I don’t find such an old school butler like that sweet dearie of Stevens in Remains of the Day. Nor need he be a true and proper Jeeves. I’d be happy if he were a cross between Alfred Pennyworth, Batman’s butler, and Geoffrey Butler, the ever-efficient-if-slightly-grumpy butler in Fresh Prince of Bel-air. Yes. Almost like Zazu, the Lion King’s major domo.
And what would his tasks be? Open jars of course. And all the other millions of task in our daily life designed primarily by men for men. Try opening (and closing) a three-wheel stroller for example. Or try changing your flat tyre. I swear I don’t need to work on my biceps thanks to the above couple of chores.
Why isn’t everything lightweight in this day and age? Isn’t that what Michael J. Fox predicted in Back to the Future? I suspect it’s a conspiracy: male designers want to ensure that the stronger sex is always needed around.
Now, I am not whiner. And as much as I am an ardent believer of the women sisterhood, I scowl at girls who won’t as much as go up a stepping stool because they fear they’ll get ladders in their tights.
But I really think it’s time to call it quits. Some things I just can’t do. Case in point: A couple of days ago I was trying to unscrew a light wall, which went something like this: “Grunt, uff, arrgh”, till I hung my head in shame and phoned a cousin. He came over and before I had even explained my tale of woe, the whole thing was done, packed and ready.
Yes I am independent but I still haven’t gotten feminist enough – or perhaps the world not lightweight enough - to claim that women can live without men.
So I want a butler who will carry Pip on his shoulders, when my neck muscles start resembling Hulk’s and also when she’s eating biscuits so the crumbs will fall on his hat (yes he would wear one) and not get enmeshed in my hair turning it into one big dreadlock.
The butler will be there to hand me things in the morning rush before the school run: ‘And here are your sunglasses/shoes/mascara Ma’am’; ‘Here’s some loose change for the parker’; ‘And this is your car key.’ Wait. What am I saying? He could actually drive us around and give me knees a bit of a rest.
Yes and when we’re stuck in traffic he will turn away from the steering wheel and Ambrogio style, will offer me a Ferrero Rocher. Actually, traffic jams will become a thing of the past. The butler will be so mAZe savvy that he’ll zoom home through little side streets and won’t ever end up in dead-end alley.
He’ll lug the gas cylinder. He’ll have a stock of batteries, power leads and all things required to make things function when they suddenly stop. He’ll fix a dvd player when a peanut butter cracker is mysteriously jammed into it.
He’ll do those little things, like booking dentist appointments, and other phone calls where a stern manly voice will get you a better result than an apologetic girly one would. In fact, ideally he’ll have a slight British toff accent - we all know that in Malta it goes a long way in customer service, seeing as we’re still colonialists deep down.
He’ll put up the shelves, fix cupboards that don’t quite close and fill up holes in plasterwork. But he will also be there, discreetly, in the background, when I’m having a heart-to-heart with a girlfriend, so if need be, he can give us a male insight of the situation.
Which brings me to the age factor. Hmm. How old should my butler be? Not to young not to old. I’m thinking, Ewan McGregor would be the perfect candidate. Or maybe that would be a tad too handsome? I wouldn’t want him to run off with any of my girlfriends, because that would mean I have to start recruiting again. You see, no boyfriend/husband/partner would ever do any of the above willingly and ungrudgingly.
There. All that’s needed now is for the application letters to start rolling in.
Published in the Sunday Times of Malta
