...Baby Fangs temporarily destroyed the shift button on our computer and I couldn't post anything until we got it fixed, because everything I wrote looked like something by ee cummings on crack... Baby Fangs, Baby Fangs, how could you do that to me???
First off, the mouse situation, which reached a crisis last week when I found a dead one in my sink. No, you didn't really read that. The Chinese traps I bought last month were a complete failure. We went out and did a five-store hunt for the American ones, and, holy crap, my mom wasn't kidding, fifteen dead in two days. Mr IQ has renamed our home "Mouschwitz", aharharharhar.....har? All this would be good news, except that... well, you know... FIFTEEN??? God, we're pigs.
Second, the new lighting situation: Disaster! Having made the bold decision over the holidays to finally say good-bye to the tacky, ultra-seventies style chandelier that has graced our dining room since we moved into this pit four years ago, we picked out a tacky new-millennium style chandelier, and have now spent not one, not two, but three nights trying to put the damn thing up.
Now I should preface this by telling you that one of the books I picked up for old IQ at Christmas basically outlined weird ways in which people have died, and skimming it briefly before wrapping it has made me very, very paranoid. VERY paranoid. Why are you looking at me like that, are you going to kill me? During the big chandelier operation of 2007, what with all those electrical wires and things hanging out all over the place, I naturally never stopped being terrified, so when he barked out an order (our roles were curiously reversed for this operation, hmmm, interesting) I would... hesitate. Which would PISS HIM OFF. Words would be exchanged, Princess (that's me) would get insulted, and the project would have to be abandoned for another half an hour or so.
We decided, later than we should have, that the only way we were going to get through this without one of us packing our bags was for him to only say what was necessary and for me not to say anything at all. So with him on top of his newly purchased step-ladder and me precariously perched on a rickety, wooden kitchen chair, he shouted and nagged and ordered me about, a lot of direction when you consider my only job was to hold the damn light up. And the thing is, my arms are weak and flabby, and it really hurt holding that heavy chandelier up for so long. Also, I never really enjoy being bossed around by a bad-tempered crank. So I was really, really miserable. I tried to tune out of my surroundings by listening to the radio, but being shouted at and suffering pain simultaneously made CBC's documentary, a frank and explicit look at French sado-masochistic literature, perhaps a little less interesting than I would have found under different circumstances.
Anyway, after three days of swearing, slavery and pain, the light is STILL not up. My dad (a retired engineer) is coming by tomorrow at 9:00 am to help us out, and I predict he'll have it up and swinging within fifteen minutes. Frankly, I'll be up and swinging if he can't do it either. I can't stand much more of this.
And last, the 'stache: Say, that almost rhymed!! Well, I'm happy to say that I finally got down to business and bleached the sucker. OK, I should break down and admit that of course I have not been sporting a full blown moustache. I studied myself very carefully in the mirror after High Intensity's casual comment, and at most I saw two hairs that were perhaps a little longer and a little darker than fashion would dictate appropriate. (I asked Mr. IQ if he noticed them, and he said no, but that really doesn't mean anything, I mean, he's a little oblivious, sometimes I think I could walk by him stark naked with maraschino cherries dangling from my tits and he wouldn't notice. Sorry, but, you know.) Anyway, in the spirit of the charming Constant Whiner giving her post-holiday blemishes affectionate monikers, I decided that I, too would give names to my two unwelcome hair friends, and I did: Phil and Cheeky Monkey. We hung out for a while together, the three of us, but it just wasn't working for me. They made me feel ugly, and friends like that just aren't worth having. So I whitened them to oblivion yesterday morning.
Au revoir, suckers!
(Um, I was saying that to the, uh, hairs, not... not you.)
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2 comments:
regarding the mice.. a friend suggested we get the sticky paper--- and then I forgot I'd put one under the sink. I starved a mouse to death -- but not before he tried to chew his legs off.
I felt like a murdering torturer. So, Never Never will I use mouse paper again. The traps that go SNAP are far more kind.
My boss gets her chin and upper lip waxed. but for two hairs - I would just tweeze them
(that almost sounds like tease them, doesn't it?)
You should know that trying to hang a fixture with your partner is like trying to wallpaper with your partner-grounds for divorce. My advice to you (having tried both of the above and managing to stay married for many years) is to wait till your kids are old enough to do it. You can always boss them around.
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