It's not about the house.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

My House, Out of the Ordinary

I started working, but I balked at actually opening the bottom cabinets. I just can't imagine where I'm going to put everything that's in there. The new ones are already full. So instead, I started out by clearing the counter, which has the added advantage of allowing me to show and tell you this:

Last night, we may or may not have had a couple beers. I'm not saying. It's entirely possible that I took all those pig-rat pictures sober. Yes, it is. But I will say that Johnny left his cigarette in the ashtray again until it shortened and fell out. He does this all the time, to the extent that I have had to make rules about where the ashtrays are and are not allowed to be. I don't want all my furniture to have little burn marks on it. And I sure as hell don't want him burning down the house.

This time, we were in the kitchen. The ashtray was in an approved location. We got carried away discussing who is more Fascist and Usurping -- Super Delegates or Supreme Court -- as regards election-deciding without the input of the people. I said Court, because I support Barack Obama so I'm more upset about what went down last time than I am worried about what might happen now. Johnny's for Hil, though, so he said Super D. (Those weren't our official reasons, but they're what it was all really about, I think.)


By the time we finally agreed to disagree, his cigarette had fallen out and


But who cares? We're tearing it out next weekend, anyway! So of course I grabbed the Sharpie I'd been labelling spice bottles with, and wrote all over it. What would you have done?

I'm more concerned with stopping him from filling that empty counter up with another load of useless crap before we get a chance to haul it down to the basement. Because oh, yeah, that's the decision: we're keeping the cabinets and setting them up in the basement. For all of Johnny's useless crap.

6 comments:

iloveupstate.com said...

I think I have some packages of "the patch" in the storage closet. Getting him to quit would be grand.

Takes his ass on down to the hospice floor so he can hang with all the lung cancer patients, then slap a patch on him.

I got my Mom to quit (50 years, 2 packs a day) and I quit 4/1/01.

EGE said...

Great for you and your mom!

I'm not one to talk to him about just saying no, considering my addictive relationship with all things chocolate. Fortunately, however, you don't end up on the hospice floor with terminal ass fat.

Jen said...

"Terminal ass fat" runs in my family... Hehehehehe!

iloveupstate.com said...

Jen - mine too!

Jen said...

I think next time I go to the doc and have to fill out one of those long forms,your whole medical history, at the end where they let you write in stuff, I am gonna write.."terminal ass fat"...

EGE said...

It's a plague, I tell you!