I’m avoiding working on my writing writing, and cleaning up the beer can Manchild left on my kitchen table, along with the soup he made, and the 500 pots and pans he used to accomplish this one, singular task. (He eventually did, by means of running them quickly under cold water before placing them on the draining rack with all my clean dishes.) Right now he’s snoring on my couch because the mattress he dragged with him was in the bed of his truck, and got a wee bit damp when he drove through a blizzard in the mountain pass at 3 a.m..
Thank god he kept the open bottles of rum and his shotguns in the cab with him though. It would have been an absolute tragedy if those got cold, and slightly damp. (For the record, he wasn’t drinking the rum, he just didn’t want to leave it behind now that he’s jobless and can’t afford to buy more.)
Priorities. Not much of a thing around here.
I have the sneaking suspicion I may lose my temper a few times before we move. Thankfully I’m headed to Utah next week to help the Motherling find a house for her and mi padre. She’ll be staying with one of my brothers while I stay at my sister Nana’s house. I’m not entirely sure Nana remembers I’m coming though, so I probably ought to call and remind her…. hhhhmmm. Anything could happen with that one.
My entire mission with this house finding thing is to covertly guide my mother towards something that has some sort of divisible space, like a basement with its own entrance, and a place for a stove and fridge. Preferably bedrooms that don’t share a wall; I already suffered that trauma as a teenager, and I’m quite sure my own children don’t need to be similarly traumatized. ::sigh:: I love my parents, and believe they are nice people, I just don’t know how to coexist in the same space without bumping heads. (Or headboards, for that matter. – I know. Unreservedly Eeeeeewwww.)
Today I’m doing everything before I go; laundry, spaying the dog, buying a corset for the Daughterling for prom (Damn those strapless dresses!), teaching my daughter how to tape a dress to her boobs so she doesn’t cause the Space Needle to stop spinning. The usual stuff.
I had to get up early to drop the dog off at the humane society for a cheap-o spay. A girl named Kristi (the last vowel with a huge smiley face where the dot should be) checked her in and noted I had marked “yes” where the forms asked if we had other dogs. I then discovered she made every sentence sound like a question.
No, I didn’t slap her and offer a lesson on cadence. I’m not mean, just educated.
Krist😊: “Oh, do you have any males?”
Moi: “Most assuredly.”
Krist😊: “Cause we fix those too.”
Moi: “Really, do you now?”
Krist😊: “Oh yeah! What kind do you have?”
Moi: “Canis Erectus Heteromessiness. He’s about 180 -190, depending on how generous I’m feeling when it comes to feeding him.”
Krist😊: “Oh. Haven’t heard of that one.. ::pauses; almost catches on:: That’s really big … I’m not sure if we can fix a dog that big.”
Moi: “So it has to be a dog then? Too bad, because he’s definitely broke.”
Krist😊: “Oh. What?”
Moi: “Aahh, wee lamb” ::said in my best Merida:: “Don’t worry about it, he’s too big for me to fix too; it was his mothers job anyway.”
The lady behind me snickered. She had three cats coming in to get fixed, so clearly she could appreciate the wise maven humor. About twenty years from now Kristi will be over the whole innocent being-nice-when-somebody-says-something-confusing-and-you-don’t-want-to-look-like-an-idiot-so-you-don’t-question-it phase. She may even have started to pay attention to what people are actually saying….😜
She’ll be sitting at her divorce lawyers, and my words will suddenly make sense. Then she’ll start laughing for no reason and give everyone cause to believe she’s a loony old bat.
Thats how it happens people.
It’s my hope that some day the crap that comes out of my mouth will make sense to more people than crazy old cat ladies. (We all need to have dreams.)
Now I need to slap some make-up on this old barn and haul the daughter off to the local brazier shop. I also need to buy more food now that the Manchild has depleted our supplies. Between ripping the reproductive organs out of a small dog, finding a sling for the daughters girls, and shoring up the vittles reserves, it’s going to be a full day.
Time to hop on my broomstick and make a little magic.