I run the dishwasher when it’s still half empty. I under or overload the washing machine and dryer. I routinely mock the rules and dangers of Housewife Life.
I always step on or above my ladder’s step labeled, “Do not step on or above this step!” Hey, I’m five feet tall and someone around here has to change the light bulbs in the ceiling fixtures or we’d be stumbling around in the dark.
I’d like to say I run around the house with scissors, but if I’m running around this house, it’s usually to find the plunger or catch a dog who escaped half way through a just–rolled–in-something-dead bath.
I have my carpets cleaned before a big party — not after. Go ahead, spill your drink. I like to live dangerously.
I go to the grocery store without makeup. That’s right. I am self confident, brave and dangerous.
Okay, I usually forget. Until I pull in the parking lot, glance in the rearview mirror and realize yesterday’s mascara is on my cheek and last night’s zit medicine is crusted all over my chin. Ever the dangerous sort, I fish a dirty sock out from under the seat, spit on it and wipe my face clean.
I don’t measure accurately when baking or cooking. I rarely set the oven timer. Okay, I usually forget. But that’s what smoke alarms are for, right?
I find a great thrill in breaking laundry tag rules. Gentle cycle? For wimps. Cold water? Ew, no germ fighting. “Turn inside out and wash with dark colors.” I should expend that kind of energy on my son’s sweatpants? Why don’t they tell me something useful, like, “Empty pockets in search of loose bills, ball point pens, paper clips and gum.”
I routinely ignore expiration dates on pain relievers and sleep aids. If the Expiration Police ever came to my house, they’d understand.
In extreme defiance of the 1-800-Appliance helpline man and at risk of voiding my manufacturer’s warranty, I refuse to continue cleaning my stove top grates by soaking overnight in an ammonia-filled garbage bag. After killing all the potted plants and finding three of the neighbor’s cats sprawled out cold on my garage floor next to my melted minivan tires, it’s time for drastic domestic measures.
I’m breaking the rules. I’m living dangerously. I’m putting my stove top grates in the dishwasher.
And running it half empty.
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.)
