When it comes to establishing routines, Andrew has always been a sensory learner, as in, see the bills, pay the bills, listen to the silence (from non-creditor phone calls). It’s not a complicated system, yet every year around his birthday, Andrew is stunned by the exorbitant cost of renewing his driver’s license.
Since he drew the “All Things Auto” straw in our household division of labour, it’s his job to deal with oil changes, car washes and parking tickets. My unassigned car contributions include spilling coffee in the cup holders, leaving the driver’s seat in the castration position, and generally neglecting all child filth.
When I noticed Andrew’s renewal form in the mail this morning, I went to his car to prop it up where he’d be sure to find it. In an effort to achieve optimum visual impact, I pushed a little panel door on the console marked “NOT AN ASHTRAY” and discovered the reason for his annual bewilderment. No evidence of smoking … just the smoking gun:
While this finger in the ear “La-La-La, I-Can’t-Hear-You” administrative approach may work for some, I felt it my duty to gently point out that forgotten municipal invoices don’t just magically disappear simply because they can no longer be seen.
I hope he thanks me later for not using his staple gun to make my point: