This is All So I Can Shit in Peace

I cannot stop with the fucking Diet Mountain Dew. It's like an embarrassing old boyfriend or something, you know, spend a little time apart, get to remembering the good stuff and wanting a taste again, and then you pound one and twenty minutes later you're sitting in a minivan taking deep breaths through your mouth and trying not to lacquer your steering wheel in electric yellow glop. And someone asks if you're okay and all you can say is "...hlk."

Just like that.

So I've had people -- contractor, plumber, electrician, a handful of police officers who probably did NOT need to come in with guns unholstered -- in my house for about two weeks now. The upshot of this Parade of Men is that we will soon have an awesome new bathroom two feet from my side of the bed, bonus points for being the only room in the house I'd trust not to collapse in a stiff breeze, so as in the case of late pregnancy it will ALL BE WORTH IT IN THE END when I can enjoy my morning alone time with the newspaper and no children dangling in the doorway whining about hooooow looooong is it gonna beeeee when they could very well go to the perfectly operational toilet upstairs but in the meantime I am having to parent in front of other people all day and shower just one paltry layer of drywall away from strangers and not that this changes anything, my slack-ass Blue's Clues-allowing ways and creative swearing, but I do feel weird having to elbow men out of the way just to dig my underpants out of the drawer. 

There's no way to hide what you're doing there. Hey, fellas, don't mind me. What do you think today, purple? The purple ones? With this bra? Okay. High five. 

It's harshing my mellow, is what I'm saying. I don't know if a man who spends his days elbow-deep in sewage has the wherewithal to notice the Costco-size bottle of lube nobody ever remembers to put away or judge my habit of just leaving the play-doh on the floor until it's dry enough to sweep up, but I'm thinking about it. Not hard enough to pick up the play-doh ahead of schedule, of course. You don't fuck with a successful routine.

 

 

Comments

[Gretchen V]

I mean, how does one get Play Doh up before it's dry, anyway? I swear everything I've tried only makes it worse.

[Brooke]

Please tell me the police story.

[Jo]

Ah, Brooke, it's much funnier if I *don't* -- see, I forgot our contractor was coming over (he has a key and lets himself in), and I set the alarm before heading out to physical therapy. So he shows up, comes in, alarm goes off. I get a frantic phone call from our wonderful neighbor, who knows both our alarm code AND our awesome contractor, so I ask her to turn it off. She does, but the alarm company sends the cops out anyway. Two come by, chat with the contractor, and leave. Then another one comes by, verifies that the contractor has already spoken with other cops -- and then Contractor realizes that he is now putting his weapon back in its holster! Like, he'd had it ready to go all along!

[gretchenosis]

dude, i was not aware you had a mellow to be harshed.

[Jo]

YOU, ALL RIGHT? I LEARNED IT BY WATCHING

...yeah, I guess you're right.

[Lilian]

yikes... the cops part is not fun.

But...

but...

You'll show us many photos of the new bathroom, won't you? Please? :)

[A]

Your links to the Leery Polyp and Sophia's birth story are broken. I guess that means I have to go back in the lab or read a science-y paper. Damn you. ;)

[Melissa]

I knew you had a bunch of pent-up shit you were waiting to blow out here. Kewl.

[Robin]

Oh my god you are hilarious. I didn't know how much I missed you until I read about the left-out lube and the left-out play-doh.

[Jo]

Aw. Thanks. :)

[Slim]

Is this a bathroom with a force field, so your kids can't knock on the door during Mommy's Alone Time?

I'm sure the contractors are impressed by the lube.

[Jo]

How I wish.

I mean about the forcefield, not the contractors.