Eish!

I’m teaching myself to multitask.

I fear I have much to learn. Amelia managed to send 30 emails, edit a spreadsheet, apply makeup, find all the crap on my iPod, make 3 phone calls and drink a Savannah in the time it took to drive from Somerset West to Blouberg. If she hadn’t pre-prepared the salad I can only assume that she would have chopped and tossed  that en-route. I may have set my sights a bit high.

It makes me think though, and I don’t like to think much most mornings. It puts unnecessary strain on a well groomed hangover.

JJB reckons that woman can’t actually do two things at once, but rather can do two things half as well at the same time. The two parts simply add up to a single whole. Although the notion has merit, I find it unlikely that I would be able to apply that theory in a rational debate with a woman. Nor would I want to. They are capable of burning holes through your spine with their eyes, slapping you in the face with a wet fish and driving a high-heeled shoe through your temple all at the same time.

I don’t care which one is done half well.

All this is moot though. Amelia is capable of bathing a dog, building a 1500 piece puzzle, deciding who will win Survivor and deboning a chicken all on the way to work. All I’m capable of doing in the same time is driving over a nail, whacking my wing-mirror on the garage door, scaring a small child, jumping a red light and running out of petrol under the boom at the entrance to my office park.

Multi-tasking is, in fact,  for the birds.