28 May 2025
Story #1135
R. Linda:
In me abode, the kiddos, except the youngest, do their own laundry. I work, their Mam works, and their Mamo has arthritis, so she can't do their wash as it's too much for her. We have encountered a problem of sorts, known as 'Who dumped their dirty laundry and left it?' This the two boyos do with a frequency that angers their Mamo and gets their Mam upset, she can't get in to do the youngest's laundry.
"How would you like to be the stinky kid in your class wearing the same clothes day after day because your brothers have taken over the laundry and your Mom can't get in to wash yours?" Their Mam would ask them.
The eldest's excuse is that he dumps his dirty laundry in the washroom because his middle brother usually has clothes in the washer, and he can't get in.
The middle child's excuse is that he doesn't have time, but he does his wash at 2 a.m. when he can, and then he's tired for school the next morning and forgets where the laundry room is located. What that means I've notta clue.
Meanwhile, in the hallway, bags of clothing line the left wall. Three of the bags are to be donated to clothing bins because they no longer fit Guido. The rest is clean clothing, but he has no room in his closet for it, and why is that? Because he has a vast collection of trainers. I am not talking one pair, but rows of these designer shoes that are rare or so expensive they've only made a few pairs. So we have an obstacle course in the upper hallway that looks awful.
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| Three left, three donated |
Add to this, he has two windows that face the front of the house, and crammed into those windows are "collectables" he has no place for in his room.
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| Nerf gun, umm, valuable, right, uh huh |
It looks like a hoarder lives up there. I would love to post pictures of his room, but I'm too embarrassed by all the junk (oh excuse me, valuable items) that are scattered haphazardly. We call his room Hoarder Central. But wait! He isn't the only one; the eldest also has a room full of junk, I mean, valuable collectables that he bought from an antique and curiosity emporium. And he, too, complains that he has no room for his clothes in his room or closet. We call his room the Star Wars Garbage Barge. We often refer to that part of the house as "the ghetto." Me sainted Mam used to clean their rooms, which annoyed me because they wouldn't clean them; they were happy with her doing it. The clean rooms lasted only one day, and then it was back to dumpster diving heaven.
Don't get me started on the attic. They dump the collectables they are tired of, along with old clothes, up there. We had an attic you could walk through; now, you get to the top of the stairs, take a look, and turn around - it's that cluttered. So there's a project for this summer, un huh.
That's two big problems.
Then there is the bullying at school. Not any of mine, but me sister Sheila's eldest kiddo, Finn. Finn be a toughie, he be. I do not know who he takes after, but he gets into fights and all kinds of trouble. Sheila rings up our Mam to complain about Finn and what troublemaking he's been up to. Sheila sometimes feels overwhelmed and thinks she should consider moving into the headmaster's office at school, as she spends a significant amount of her time there. Mam has tried to give suggestions, but nothing seems to work. However, one piece of encouraging news was shared with us today. Sheila's youngest, Aoife, a third-grader, tries to help a classmate who is being bullied mercilessly. The youngster asked Aoife why she wasn't bullied, and Aoife said, "One word . . . Finn."
So there is that.
Mam almost killed herself by spraying the dog with doggy baby powder scent spray. Mr. Collie Dog came in from outside smelling rangy. Tonya and Mam were having coffee and chatting as is their morning routine, when they both decided Collie Man was too potent to be around. Mam took him to the mudroom, didn't turn on the light, and sprayed at him, not sure if she had hit him, so she double-sprayed. She came back to her place on the couch, and Collie Man sheepishly came out of the mudroom and lay down next to them. The smell had gone from rangey to a distinctly old-lady smell. The poor thing couldn't stand the new smell and got up, rolling around the floor trying to get the spray off.
"Ooh, Collie ye don't smell of Old Spice, ooh!" Mam said, holding her nose, before having a coughing outbreak.
"No, he smells like an old lady, too much powder!" Tonya choked.
"I overdid it wit da spray, I did," Mam stated the obvious and started choking on the drifting fumes.
"Are ye tryin' ta kill yourself?" I asked her.
"No, she's trying to kill the dog," Tonya croaked.
"If I hafta go, yer all goin' wit me includen' da dog," Mam said.
I tell ya.
Lastly, I was invited out to breakfast by the Weasil. I hadn't seen him in a while, so why not? I know what you're thinking, am I out of me mind or what? We were going to meet halfway between where he was staying and me abode. It was decided that we'd go to this little place we'd been to a few times. This was on a rainy Saturday. The food isn't particularly good, but in a pinch and because of the weather . . . Anyway, we met up early, me having had only one cup of joe, so I wasn't with it and wasn't noticing Weasil's apparel. The place was decidedly not crowded, for one, the weather, and two, the food. I started to notice (after two cups of joe in me) people covertly glancing at us. I thought nothing of it until Weasil shifted in his chair, and I saw his zip-up hoodie. It was a professional news network blue, and on the left side, it said 'CBS News'. I don't wear me own news jacket, and here he was . . . there are no words.
"Where did you get that?" I said, pointing at the outerwear.
"A friendie of mine let me borrow it." He said, like, no big deal.
All I could do was shake me head. When we got up from the table, the rest of the diners, three tables full of old ladies and one gent, watched us go. All was silence as they wondered who the blond CBS person was.
There is a takeout bake shop at the front of the restaurant, and the Weas told me they had kronuts and we needed to pick some up. He knew I'd never had one, so this was a must-stop. On the word kronuts, I completely forgot about the CBS thing. But I was suddenly reminded of it when I saw the man behind the counter waiting on us, sneaking glances at the Weasil's logo jacket. The Weasil was busy chatting him up about the baked goods, so he never got a chance to ask, "Just who are you from CBS?" But I knew he wanted to ask. We left without a hitch, and I am pretty sure that the man behind the counter and all his cohorts were looking out the window at the Weasil, wondering just who he was. I was sure he must have said, as soon as we were out the door, "DID YOU SEE THAT GUY FROM CBS NEWS WAS IN HERE?"
Yup.
Gabe
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