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Then we get home and The Son is still in the shower, but YD needs to take a bath, so I wander in the kitchen and see that my children haven't unloaded or loaded the dishwasher as per their rental agreement, Section 1 Page 2 Clause 6. I yell a little bit and then think "Oh to hell with it" because The Son is in the shower and can't hear me and Oldest Daughter's eyes are glazed over and she is doing Algebra and it's already late so I just do it because I am getting my mother's martyr complex, which is apparently hereditary. That makes me cranky.
Then I finally get YD in the bath and I let her take 40 small toys in there, and just as I am preparing to wash her hair, I hear Current Husband in the other room say, "You have GOT to be kidding me!" and not in a "I just heard the funniest joke!" kind of way. I run into the living room and there are not one, but THREE fresh steaming piles of dog puke. The GD Dog is sitting behind them, looking sheepish, and George the Superpet is around the corner saying, "I told you that GD Dog was going to be nothing but trouble." Since it is my mother's dog, I felt compelled to clean it up. CH felt compelled to head out the door to meet someone for a beer. Everyone else felt compelled to go to bed. This all reminded me of my favorite story.
"Not I," said the kid.
"Not I," said the husband.
"Not I," said the GD Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen.
And then she ate a whole fucking cake and was bitter for the rest of the night.
The End.
Goodnight, Wifers!
7 comments:
What kind of cake? ;)
(Please don't punch me in the face.)
Oh, yeah! We're just living the dream with the pets puking.
ah the dream. dogs are nothing but trouble. and i am realizing the mother complex as well. sick but still doing laundry, making dinner, dishes...on and on, never ending.
Everyone knows that all tasks involving bodily fluids - no matter who they belong to - belong to the mom. Just ask my family.
Switch the dogs to cats & you have my life. Except I don't walk the cats. Thanks for the smile!
You just explained my family perfectly. Espcially when it comes to cleaning up dog puke, kid puke, and all of their various vomits.
Thank God my oldest took the cat with her to college so I don't have to clean up cat yak, hairballs, and her shit anymore.
As I sleepily made my way across my kitchen this morning, I stepped into a dog puke pile. Hubby cleaned it up, but didn't move the rug. I then stepped on the wet rug, which was almost as nasty as the actual puke. That set the tone for the morning, i.e., I am a PMSing cranky bitch, who has scrubbed her feet twice and it isn't even noon.
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