I just spent six hours – SIX HOURS, PEOPLE! – taking down and washing every light cover in the Madison house, and then getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing all the hardwood floors in the house and THEN getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing every inch of the kitchen and dining room with those Magic Sponges.

I ain’t cleaning the frickin’ floors in this house ever again

Anyway, that’s why the entry is going up so late. Sorry ’bout that.

* * *

Sunday afternoon I am amazed that the lights we took down at the Crooked Acres house – the ones we hate and at least five of you have offered to buy from us, which is why they’re sitting in the garage at the Madison house waiting to be boxed up and put on eBay – didn’t explode from the amount of hate I was shooting at them. Sunday was a weird day, starting with the cats letting me sleep in, and not in a “Let’s let the lady sleep in while we barf from one end of the house to the other and then kill each other!” way, in a “sincerely quiet so the lady can sleep” way. Very odd, and so I woke up a bit on edge. I puttered around the house, doing my morning chores – opening all the blinds, scooping out the litter box, giving the cats fresh water, checking on the chicks and giving them food and water – then took a shower and did some more stuff around the house before heading to Madison around noon.

Once in Madison, I’d almost finished cleaning the windows in the downstairs (did I mention that I spent all day Friday cleaning? It took me the entire day to get the upstairs cleaned and straightened around, but when I was done, it looked AWESOME) when Fred, who’d been eyeing a dog who appeared to be wandering around the neighborhood, decided the dog was lost, so we gave him water, and I went to pick up dog food (because god forbid any animal ever feel the slightest twinge of hunger when we’re around). The dog – who appeared to be some kind of Greyhound, and after Googling around, I determined that he was probably an Italian Greyhound, and a pretty old one, at that – ate some food and drank some water, and started following me around.

He was a cute little dog, and I entertained fantasies of being unable to find his owner and bringing him out to Crooked Acres, where he’d follow me around some more and maybe chase a squirrel or something. Whatever dogs do.

But because I had to at least make an attempt to find his owner, I made up a flyer with his picture on it and started driving around the neighborhood hanging them on Yield and Stop signs. I’d gotten six or seven of them hung up when Fred called to let me know that he (and his father, who had come over to help do some handyman stuff) had seen someone driving slowly through the cul-de-sac and they waved him down to ask if he was looking for a dog, and he was.

Hmph. I’d already named him “Sammy” in my head.

(Yeah, shaddup. I don’t want a dog, but it’s a different story when they show up on your doorstep. And he was cute, though Fred discovered that he was 16 years old and I do believe that’s old for a dawg. No doubt if we’d ended up keeping him, it would have only been to shepherd him through his dyin’ years.)

So after that, I separated out the lights from the Crooked Acres house, measured the biggest ones, and headed over to Staples to find boxes to put them in. My intention was to clean them up a little (a VERY little), take pictures, box them up, and let Fred list them individually on eBay. Except that Staples didn’t have any boxes that were big enough, so I went to Lowe’s and found that they didn’t have any big-enough boxes either, and I was filled with a black hatred for the lights and my husband and every thing that ever was.

I said to myself “F**k it” and I said to myself “F**k them” and I said to myself “F**k him”, and I decided that I was good and done with the lights, and I was thisclose to loading the lights up in my car and taking them to Goodwill or possibly even the dump, and the only thing that stopped me was that deep down I knew I needed to take a deep breath and calm down and probably I’d end up divorced if I dumped the lights off at the dump and I flat-out don’t have the time or patience for a long, drawn-out custody battle for Tommy and Sugarbutt (who love me best, clearly).

Thus I said to myself “I am going to play me some Snood and surf me some web, and I’ll think about the lights tomorrow.”

I sure am coming to hate that Madison house, is all I have left to say about that.

Sleepin’ Sugs.

Brudderly bookends.


2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.

Comments are closed.