Learning to be helpless

Learned helplessness is something which I’ve always been very scathing about. Most frequently, this is terminology I associate with over pampered men, who don’t need to learn anything domestic so lose the ability to do so. It’s hardly something I’d associate with myself. And then, maybe…lets investigate.

Last night I decided it was high time I flexed my muscles and proved my (limited) prowess in the kitchen. I chose a dish, I invited some special friends and I cooked. It was easy peesy (that’s what I’m supposed to say) and yet it wasn’t at all. I missed out on half the exciting gossip and important topics as I couldn’t ear wig over that peskily noisy frying mince. I peered around the wall at any mention of key phrases (involving the use of the word ‘knob’) like some kind of kitchen based meer cat. When we’d eaten starters I had to jump up and wash up cutlery, after dinner I had to collect the plates. There were no waiters, there was no hired help. Just me. Quite frankly by the end of the evening (well 9pm) I was so knackered I could happily have fallen asleep on the sofa. The point? In just 2 short months, my housemate and general godsend has whipped up so many dinners with such ease and grace from meagre looking ingredients (abit like the A team) that I’ve forgotten that cooking and entertaining is actually hard work. Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazingly rewarding when the people you love eat your food and don’t gag, but it’s Effort with a capital E. I have learned helplessness of the kitchen. I am redundant.

It struck me whilst pondering my rapid descent into needy individual, that this is not the first time this has happened. When I lived in Compton Avenue I avoided it as I was probably the most bossy and headstrong, but placed in a situation where I’m out-organised, out-bossed and generally out classed, I’m meeker than a fecking dormouse. During my 5 year relationship with the lovely Andy, I had a proper case of ‘little miss dependant’ to the point whereby when we broke up, I had no idea how to pay a credit card bill- yes, MY credit card bill. I also had no idea of my outgoings, of the cost of anything (and still don’t know the cost of anything foody to this day). Thank god Andy was a nice caring guy who just wanted to look after me and not an evil confidence trickster or I’d have been nailed, hard, to the wall.

I’ve decided it’s not an admirable personality trait. Just because someone can look after you with ease it doesn’t mean you should let them. Care taking (not the janitorial kind) should be split, and in every friendship there should be evidence of giving and taking….you shouldn’t be able to exist without each other, but not for negative reasons, for positive ones.

The long and the short of it is, I’m prepared to do battle against learned helplessness, but might just allow it to develop a little in the kitchen whilst Natalie’s around.