29 April 2012
522
R. Linda:
My invite to the White House Correspondence Dinner must have gotten lost in the mail. SIGH. That's another year that's happened! Do you think it's because I be covering the Romney campaign? Well, I was sulking I was, so the wife decided to take my mind off this snub and got out the dreaded Honey DO List. Yes, she did, so I high-tailed it out of her line of sight and hid myself for about an hour until it was safe to reappear. But I am good at cutting corners and have LEARNED, yes that's right LEARNED how to wheedle out of things or make it look like I was doing the work when I really am doing something else.
There is no end to creating shortcuts and getting away with them UNLESS the wife is watching closely, then all goes out the window. So let me begin with this. At lunch, O'Hare spilt his iced drink and since I was in the kitchen with him, a shout came out from the back porch that I should help him clean it up. Well, I handed him the paper towels and he was busy dabbing up while I kicked the ice cubes under the fridge. Yes, I did.
Then the shout came reminding me to put the bread in the Tupperware container along with the condiments in the appropriate Tupperware so we don't attract ants. An aside here, me neighbour on the hill (that would be the chemical couple), seems to have an ant problem already. If there is one thing my wife doesn't like in the house uninvited, it be ants. Thus, the tupperware. I don't know about you, but I can never get the covers on those damn things closed. I end up jamming them down sticking the boxes in the cupboard and slamming the doors shut, therefore, I cannot see if they pop open or not. Yup.
I poured the youngin' another Cool-Aid without ice cubes this time, and then I realised I was thirsty. The Cool Aid was gone so I did the labour-saving thing which was to get the orange juice bottle, take a swig from it, cap it and put it back in the fridge. SHE'LL NEVER KNOW.
I was also hungry and did not want to get the dishes down, so I did the next best thing, I opened a can of chilli and heated it, eating it out of the can and throwing it into the bin when done. I tell ya, it saves me dishwasher hands it does. I dropped a morsel on the floor so I called me Irish Red and White Setter and instant cleanup! I find the dog to be good for not only tongue mopping the floor but when I don't feel like funnelling leftovers into the garbage disposal, I scrape the food directly from plate to floor and instant doggy disposal.
"Gabe take the garbage out it is overflowing," the wife shouted. I sighed. Really? Can't we let it pile up until the end of the week and THEN throw it out? No, she wouldn't like that. So to save me many trips I climbed into the trash bin and jumped up and down to compact it. That way, IT IS good for the rest of the week.
This bit about garbage doesn't end here when I actually DO have to get rid of it. I have a new method of saving me time and energy, not to mention freezing my butt off dragging it outside. Now I open the front door and fling it out in the direction of where the cans should be. Sometimes I even get it in like I am Michael fecking Jordan, and others (mostly others) it bursts open all over the place, BUT because I do this the night before pick up when Tonya sees the mess the next morning, I blame on the raccoons. Yes, I do. And it works. So far so good.
The wife came into the kitchen and tripped over my moccasins that I left by the door, and then she tripped over me other pair of shoes that I left by the lounge door.
"Damn it Gabriel, will you put these shoes away before I kill myself!" She ranted on her way to the laundry. Now I have a perfectly good excuse for a pair of shoes in every room. We like to go barefoot or on cold days we wear socks so shoes aren't a necessity unless I have to go out of doors. And with the number of requests I get to go get some more firewood or take this to the mailbox (which we don't have, I have to walk a mile to my old neighbour's mailbox and put it in his), or the dog won't come in because the setter, in particular, thinks it be great fun for me to go outside and drag her doggy arse in, so to run upstairs and get shoes be just too much trouble for me lazy arse, thus a pair of shoes in every room.
"Since I am doing YOUR underwear in the wash, why don't you polish the furniture for me," Tonya said on her way back outside. I stood there perplexed I did. Underwear? Really what was wrong with washing me underwear? I have not reached the age of skid marks and accidents. So what the heck? And she didn't form her request as a question, no it was a demand. So I did what I always do, I got the Lemon Pledge and sprayed it around the room, then went off to read the newspaper.
Thirty minutes later I get this, "Gabe would you go put YOUR underwear in the dryer. I'm in the middle of something." I stretched my neck to look out the window and what she was in the middle of was reading a romance novel. "OH, and Gabe, put another load in will ya," I tell ya the woman is something else sometimes. I threw down the paper and went to the laundry, I stood there looking at the mountain of kiddie clothes and then our dirty clothes. I started to go through my dirty jeans pockets to make sure there was no Kleenex in the pockets and discovered instead those bits of laundry dust balls that get stuck at the bottom of the pocket. I started throwing them behind the dryer but got tired of that. So I did the next best thing, I got all my dirty jeans in a basket and took them out to the side yard where Tonya couldn't see me, and I put them over the saw horses that I haven't brought in since last year and hosed it all. Then I left them to dry.
I sat back down and instantly the VOICE from the back porch shouted at me, "Gabe, you know what you can do, you can iron your shirts." If there be one thing in this life Tonya detests doing, it is ironing anything. I got up threw down the paper and back to the laundry I took myself. I stood there debating about taking the underwear out of the washer and going through the chore of putting it in the dryer and turning that appliance on, but then it hit me, with the dryer going I wouldn't be able to hear HER. So this I did, and I got the ironing board down, heated up the iron and then proceeded to iron the three shirts which are not Wash and Wear. But don't think I spent me time ironing the whole shirt, no I did the collar, and then the chest area and I was done. My suit coat will cover the rest of the wrinkles. Am I smart or what?
Tonya came in to get herself some orange juice as I came into the kitchen to do the same, but unlike me, she got a glass. While her back was turned I got the milk carton and took a swig, replacing it back in the fridge, no glass to wash, her none the wiser.
"Gabe why don't you clean up that little bit in the shed where the door sticks open. I can see it from the porch and it's just such an eyesore."
I looked out the window and yes, it was a bit of a mess but it was Sunday and I didn't want to go out there and start THAT sort of cleanup. I thought for a moment and it hit me to be brilliant, so I said to her, "Well Tonya, I can still use those odds bits of wood for your garden arbour (of which I have no intention of ever making), and the pipe and broken bits are antique pieces that may come in handy if something in the house breaks."
She looked at me askance sipping her orange juice.
"Uh-huh." She said like she didn't believe me and out the door back to her book she went.
Saved! Yes! But she threw over her shoulder that I should go brush my teeth I had something green stuck in my front teeth. I went upstairs and looked in the mirror and sure enough a bit of cilantro from the chilli. I got the choppers all brushed and polished and discovered we were out of bathroom cups. There is nothing worse than standing there holding in mint toothpaste that after a few minutes starts to burn, so I did the next best thing, I stuck my head under the sink and sucked in the tap water and then I rinsed. Yup, I did.
No sooner did I get downstairs, I got this, "Gabe I feel like some of that fresh bread from the Bread Factory, can you go get a loaf, please?"
R. Linda:
My invite to the White House Correspondence Dinner must have gotten lost in the mail. SIGH. That's another year that's happened! Do you think it's because I be covering the Romney campaign? Well, I was sulking I was, so the wife decided to take my mind off this snub and got out the dreaded Honey DO List. Yes, she did, so I high-tailed it out of her line of sight and hid myself for about an hour until it was safe to reappear. But I am good at cutting corners and have LEARNED, yes that's right LEARNED how to wheedle out of things or make it look like I was doing the work when I really am doing something else.
There is no end to creating shortcuts and getting away with them UNLESS the wife is watching closely, then all goes out the window. So let me begin with this. At lunch, O'Hare spilt his iced drink and since I was in the kitchen with him, a shout came out from the back porch that I should help him clean it up. Well, I handed him the paper towels and he was busy dabbing up while I kicked the ice cubes under the fridge. Yes, I did.
Then the shout came reminding me to put the bread in the Tupperware container along with the condiments in the appropriate Tupperware so we don't attract ants. An aside here, me neighbour on the hill (that would be the chemical couple), seems to have an ant problem already. If there is one thing my wife doesn't like in the house uninvited, it be ants. Thus, the tupperware. I don't know about you, but I can never get the covers on those damn things closed. I end up jamming them down sticking the boxes in the cupboard and slamming the doors shut, therefore, I cannot see if they pop open or not. Yup.
I poured the youngin' another Cool-Aid without ice cubes this time, and then I realised I was thirsty. The Cool Aid was gone so I did the labour-saving thing which was to get the orange juice bottle, take a swig from it, cap it and put it back in the fridge. SHE'LL NEVER KNOW.
I was also hungry and did not want to get the dishes down, so I did the next best thing, I opened a can of chilli and heated it, eating it out of the can and throwing it into the bin when done. I tell ya, it saves me dishwasher hands it does. I dropped a morsel on the floor so I called me Irish Red and White Setter and instant cleanup! I find the dog to be good for not only tongue mopping the floor but when I don't feel like funnelling leftovers into the garbage disposal, I scrape the food directly from plate to floor and instant doggy disposal.
"Gabe take the garbage out it is overflowing," the wife shouted. I sighed. Really? Can't we let it pile up until the end of the week and THEN throw it out? No, she wouldn't like that. So to save me many trips I climbed into the trash bin and jumped up and down to compact it. That way, IT IS good for the rest of the week.
This bit about garbage doesn't end here when I actually DO have to get rid of it. I have a new method of saving me time and energy, not to mention freezing my butt off dragging it outside. Now I open the front door and fling it out in the direction of where the cans should be. Sometimes I even get it in like I am Michael fecking Jordan, and others (mostly others) it bursts open all over the place, BUT because I do this the night before pick up when Tonya sees the mess the next morning, I blame on the raccoons. Yes, I do. And it works. So far so good.
The wife came into the kitchen and tripped over my moccasins that I left by the door, and then she tripped over me other pair of shoes that I left by the lounge door.
"Damn it Gabriel, will you put these shoes away before I kill myself!" She ranted on her way to the laundry. Now I have a perfectly good excuse for a pair of shoes in every room. We like to go barefoot or on cold days we wear socks so shoes aren't a necessity unless I have to go out of doors. And with the number of requests I get to go get some more firewood or take this to the mailbox (which we don't have, I have to walk a mile to my old neighbour's mailbox and put it in his), or the dog won't come in because the setter, in particular, thinks it be great fun for me to go outside and drag her doggy arse in, so to run upstairs and get shoes be just too much trouble for me lazy arse, thus a pair of shoes in every room.
"Since I am doing YOUR underwear in the wash, why don't you polish the furniture for me," Tonya said on her way back outside. I stood there perplexed I did. Underwear? Really what was wrong with washing me underwear? I have not reached the age of skid marks and accidents. So what the heck? And she didn't form her request as a question, no it was a demand. So I did what I always do, I got the Lemon Pledge and sprayed it around the room, then went off to read the newspaper.
Thirty minutes later I get this, "Gabe would you go put YOUR underwear in the dryer. I'm in the middle of something." I stretched my neck to look out the window and what she was in the middle of was reading a romance novel. "OH, and Gabe, put another load in will ya," I tell ya the woman is something else sometimes. I threw down the paper and went to the laundry, I stood there looking at the mountain of kiddie clothes and then our dirty clothes. I started to go through my dirty jeans pockets to make sure there was no Kleenex in the pockets and discovered instead those bits of laundry dust balls that get stuck at the bottom of the pocket. I started throwing them behind the dryer but got tired of that. So I did the next best thing, I got all my dirty jeans in a basket and took them out to the side yard where Tonya couldn't see me, and I put them over the saw horses that I haven't brought in since last year and hosed it all. Then I left them to dry.
I sat back down and instantly the VOICE from the back porch shouted at me, "Gabe, you know what you can do, you can iron your shirts." If there be one thing in this life Tonya detests doing, it is ironing anything. I got up threw down the paper and back to the laundry I took myself. I stood there debating about taking the underwear out of the washer and going through the chore of putting it in the dryer and turning that appliance on, but then it hit me, with the dryer going I wouldn't be able to hear HER. So this I did, and I got the ironing board down, heated up the iron and then proceeded to iron the three shirts which are not Wash and Wear. But don't think I spent me time ironing the whole shirt, no I did the collar, and then the chest area and I was done. My suit coat will cover the rest of the wrinkles. Am I smart or what?
Tonya came in to get herself some orange juice as I came into the kitchen to do the same, but unlike me, she got a glass. While her back was turned I got the milk carton and took a swig, replacing it back in the fridge, no glass to wash, her none the wiser.
"Gabe why don't you clean up that little bit in the shed where the door sticks open. I can see it from the porch and it's just such an eyesore."
I looked out the window and yes, it was a bit of a mess but it was Sunday and I didn't want to go out there and start THAT sort of cleanup. I thought for a moment and it hit me to be brilliant, so I said to her, "Well Tonya, I can still use those odds bits of wood for your garden arbour (of which I have no intention of ever making), and the pipe and broken bits are antique pieces that may come in handy if something in the house breaks."
She looked at me askance sipping her orange juice.
"Uh-huh." She said like she didn't believe me and out the door back to her book she went.
Saved! Yes! But she threw over her shoulder that I should go brush my teeth I had something green stuck in my front teeth. I went upstairs and looked in the mirror and sure enough a bit of cilantro from the chilli. I got the choppers all brushed and polished and discovered we were out of bathroom cups. There is nothing worse than standing there holding in mint toothpaste that after a few minutes starts to burn, so I did the next best thing, I stuck my head under the sink and sucked in the tap water and then I rinsed. Yup, I did.
No sooner did I get downstairs, I got this, "Gabe I feel like some of that fresh bread from the Bread Factory, can you go get a loaf, please?"
Well, this is right up my alley. I walked into the lounge to get my car keys but no keys did I see. I stood in the middle of the room and did a 360 look-about as I loudly cursed the keys for not showing themselves until Tonya came in and picked them up off the end table where they had been hiding in plain sight. I sheepishly took them and set off.
The smell of the freshly baked and warm bread on the drive home was so overpowering I took a bite and munched me way to half a loaf. I understand now why the Weasil ate the Petit' Fours (see 20 January 2010 The Petit' Four Mystery).
Not only was I in trouble for THAT, but Tonya had found the hosed-off clothing in the sideyard when she went out to look at the antique treasurers that were nothing more than junk in the shed. She also discovered, upon coming into the kitchen, a messy trail of water running out from underneath the refrigerator, a barfing dog from eating a lot of stuff she shouldn't have been fed, the gapping Tupperware containers, sneezing kiddos inhaling pledge-scented air, and unpolished furniture. She also discovered the quarter-ironed shirts, that we were out of bathroom cups, and the almost overflowing garbage. Was I in trouble? Oh yeah, I was. The only thing I did right was put ME underwear in the dryer and I was told because it was ME underwear, if it had been hers, nah.
"It just proves that YOU are no different than any other male in this world. You fling the garbage out the door, oh yes Mister I know about THAT, and then there is that timeless question as to why men can take dirty dishes to the sink, but CANNOT put them in the dishwasher! Why is that? And why do men find stupid ways to get out of doing chores? And the worst part of this is your hearing! Why is it I can ask you not once, not twice, but a million times to do something and YOU (because YOU don't want to do it) seem to not hear me?! And when you FINALLY do, you tell me you won't do it because I am nagging you! What is up with this?"
What be up with this indeed.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
The smell of the freshly baked and warm bread on the drive home was so overpowering I took a bite and munched me way to half a loaf. I understand now why the Weasil ate the Petit' Fours (see 20 January 2010 The Petit' Four Mystery).
Not only was I in trouble for THAT, but Tonya had found the hosed-off clothing in the sideyard when she went out to look at the antique treasurers that were nothing more than junk in the shed. She also discovered, upon coming into the kitchen, a messy trail of water running out from underneath the refrigerator, a barfing dog from eating a lot of stuff she shouldn't have been fed, the gapping Tupperware containers, sneezing kiddos inhaling pledge-scented air, and unpolished furniture. She also discovered the quarter-ironed shirts, that we were out of bathroom cups, and the almost overflowing garbage. Was I in trouble? Oh yeah, I was. The only thing I did right was put ME underwear in the dryer and I was told because it was ME underwear, if it had been hers, nah.
"It just proves that YOU are no different than any other male in this world. You fling the garbage out the door, oh yes Mister I know about THAT, and then there is that timeless question as to why men can take dirty dishes to the sink, but CANNOT put them in the dishwasher! Why is that? And why do men find stupid ways to get out of doing chores? And the worst part of this is your hearing! Why is it I can ask you not once, not twice, but a million times to do something and YOU (because YOU don't want to do it) seem to not hear me?! And when you FINALLY do, you tell me you won't do it because I am nagging you! What is up with this?"
What be up with this indeed.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
2 comments:
omg you are all alike! even though my husband wouldn't drink out of a carton or jug (at least i don't think he would) he is guilty of the other stuff.
I don't know about you cappy, but drinking OJ right out of the carton tastes better than putting it in a glass.
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