Sorry if you were looking for a post about prostitution. Try the next blog.
If it weren’t for the fact that I fear eternal damnation, I’d swear God created days ‘off’ for His own personal amusement. Go ahead and gasp in horror; I’ll wait while you catch your breath. He, on the other hand, is probably used to my offhand and generally off-color comments and questions and thus far, seems to be humoring me. I hear He’s generous that way.
Now let’s recap the last few weeks as I build the foundation of my theory. Three weeks ago I spent my day off nursing a sick child who I’m not entirely sure wasn’t milking it for all it was worth. Then again, she started up with the fever gig again on Monday, so maybe not. Two weeks ago, I started getting sick at the end of what was my ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ vacation. Last week I spent in bed with the flu…including, you guessed it, my day off. Now, call me crazy (it’s not like you haven’t thought it already), but that’s just a little too coincidental for words. Am I right? **crickets chirping** Answer me!!
So here it is, my day off and while there aren’t any viral, snot-nosed children hanging about coughing and groaning theatrically, there are two toilets that’ve decided they just can’t take anymore. I guess were I a toilet I’d get pretty tired of seeing someone’s naughty bits too, but that’s their job after all. Suck it up. Ewwww…sorry.
Let me say up front, that I’m absolutely blessed to live this close to my parents and that Dear Dad is as handy as they come in fixing just about anything and that I’d still be grunting over removing bolts if it wasn’t for Dear Dad. I did not, however, marry a handy man which means that fix-it-up type stuff around here falls to moi…and Dear Dad. Himself, bless his heart, tries but he’s no longer allowed to touch my power tools (get your mind outta the gutter…it was a drill!) or a caulk gun.
I haven’t been nose to toilet this much since I was pregnant with the Co-Defendants and it’s not an act I miss at all…although on a hot summer day, cool porcelain just can’t be beat. Hunched over, trying mightily to dislodge bolts that only my Dear Dad could’ve applied with such force, it’s crystal clear that I am not a quality housekeeper…and that boys can’t aim.
So, now it’s a waiting game…will this fix it or shall I make yet another run to the hardware store, that last bastian of good ole boy networking where the sight of a woman on the premises is met with a mix of shock, awe and, quite possibly, horror. No, I don’t pee standing up but I do know one end of the wrench from the other. As a side note, it might impress you to know that as a teenager I could and did change the oil and rotate tires on my own vehicle. I still find it amusing I was offered a job at a local garage. But I digress. I haven’t gotten this much male attention since high school. It was tempting to sneeze or cough, just to spread around some girl cooties and watch ’em squirm, but I was on a mission and there was familial peace at stake so I restrained myself. Let’s hope these johns hold up, otherwise, I’m gonna go sit on ’em.