I’d scream but the window tinting guy, currently cleaning my living room windows, might fall off his ladder and the last thing I need is a claim on my homeowner’s insurance. And half washed windows.
The scream? Oh, and I know you’re sick of hearing this, but, Hank the Hounddog just ran away. Anyone keeping track? I’ve lost count. I’d turn the shock strength on the invisible fence up to Warp Speed, but if Nugget the Miniature Dachshund (who would never run away because she’s a girl and figured these things out her first week here) wandered into the landmine zone the shock would kill her.
Trying to contain my angst, I bit the inside of my lip in the exact same spot I bit it yesterday and three days before that. It bled onto my fresh out-of-the-toaster-oven biscuit. What a waste of perfectly good noncomplex-carbs. And I have to eat this biscuit so I can take my plutonium-grade antibiotic or for the next hour I’ll be so nauseous I’ll think I’m pregnant with my daughter all over again.
I wouldn’t need the stinking antibiotic if I weren’t breaking out like a teenager. There’s something just plain wrong when a I have to sneak into my kids’ bathrooms, steal a squirt of their benzyl peroxide, then bite my fingernails all day afraid their teen formula is too strong for my early-wrinkle-stage face and how am I going to afford Botox and chemical peels after I buy a new refrigerator?
When I swiped the dishtowel off the floor to blot the blood off my biscuit, it was wet. Little streams of water were flowing out from under the fridge and traveling along the not so clean grout lines of my kitchen floor. This can’t be happening — my husband’s at his office today. Major appliances and anything with a motor worth over $400 only malfunction and break when Scott is out of town.
My neighbor was out of town, which is why I got the call to pick up her barfing six-year-old. I dumped my Socks Without Partners from their bucket on the laundry room floor, threw it in the car and flew to school. There in the doorway stood cute little Lizzie all happy and smiley — not looking at all like the Barfing Wonder the secretary described. “Miss Karen, I think I’m fine. I only barfed once. I don’t need that bucket. Why are you driving Morgan’s car?”
“Because the window tinting man’s van was blocking my car. Keep the bucket handy just in case.”
The good news? Window Tinting Man, while I was gone, answered my door to let in Kelly, who caught Hank in her back yard. The bad news? Lizzie needed my Socks Without Partners bucket all day long and kept count. “That’s seven, Miss Karen. I’m thirsty.”
At least my living room windows are clean.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
