Housework is hazardous to your health. I’ve always seen those cheesy little refrigerator magnets that attest to that, and now I’m a believer. In an attempt to clean my house for our overnight guests (yes, dear, I know YOU didn’t care if the house was clean or not, and that you were here to see US, but it was bugging me!!), I took out my passive aggressive cleaning behavior on my kitchen sink. The kids were in school, the IPod was blaring, and I just knew that the time had come for me to tackle the mess.
Just a note about my sink… it’s original to the house. AND our house is 16 years old. AND the sink is white. AND no one around here has learned to turn on the water and rinse down the red Kool-Aid after they pour it into the sink. That’s a major grunge factor right there. It gets so stained, and nothing short of Clorox Clean-up bleach spray (wanna be my sponsored link, Clorox?!) will get it clean.
So don’t ask me why I attempted to use Formula 409 the other day to deep-clean the sink. Don’t get me wrong… 409 is great for many cleaning chores around the house. Peanut butter and jelly smeared on the counter? 409 it! Grease splattered on the stove? 409 will do the trick. Pee on the floor around the toilet? 409! (Oh c’mon, if you have a little boy, you’re feeling me on this.) 409 doesn’t make big bleach spots on my dish towels, but it is simply NOT going to get my kitchen sink stain-free.
Realizing that the 409 was not doing the trick (duh!), I grabbed the Clorox spray, and yes… sprayed it into the sink, completely coating all the grungy surfaces. I blame the IPod… I wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Damn that sexy John Mayer! Now, I’m no chemist, but even I should know that ammonia and bleach do NOT mix. That’s right. It even says so right on the side of the bottle.
Some pretty noxious fumes ensued before I could get it all rinsed down. In my haze of John Mayer, and my own little ‘chemistry experiment’, I thought to myself, ‘At least if I pass out now, the paramedics will be treated to a nice clean sink, in case they need a drink of water.”
Fortunately I did not pass out, and managed to get my kitchen sink looking respectable. So yes, housework can be a real hazard… those fumes could’ve killed me! What have I learned (other than that I should have paid more attention in chemistry class?) Well, I discovered that I wasn’t being lazy to let the housework slide. Not at all… it’s really just a case of ‘survival of the fittest’.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Solid Gold
What did you want to be when you grew up? Are you living the dream, my friend? Yes, by the way, you’re a grown-up, in case you haven’t noticed (and if you’re not, what are you doing on the computer at this time of day? Get back in school!)
When I was a kid, I can distinctly remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. A teacher? Well, sometimes. A mommy? Of course, but being a mommy and having a career are not mutually exclusive, as most of us mommies can tell you. A blog writer? Haha… didn’t really see that in my future. No… when I grew up, my greatest aspiration was to be a Solid Gold Dancer.
Admit it… you wanted to be one, too! Who didn’t?!! Those great shimmery, body-hugging costumes? The 45 second dance routines? The side ponytails they were rockin’? And if you’re not familiar with the T.V. show, ‘Solid Gold’ (either because you are significantly younger than me, or perhaps you spent your youth in the Amish country), here’s a little info from Wikipedia:
Solid Gold is an American syndicated television series which aired from 1980 to 1988, usually on Saturday in the early evening time slot. During its 7th season (1986 to 1987), it was called Solid Gold '87, Finally, in its 8th season (1987 to 1988) it was retitled Solid Gold in Concert.
The main premise of Solid Gold consisted of the "Solid Gold Dancers" doing elaborate (and sometimes borderline risqué) dances to the top ten hits of the week. Many other specials aired in which the dancers would dance to older pop hits as well.
(Wow! You laugh… you learn…this blog has it all…) I can remember begging to be allowed to watch it. Thank goodness it didn’t come on at the same time as ‘Dallas’. (Yes, those of us who had our formative years in the early 80’s... you know just what I’m talking about!) That amazingly catchy Solid Gold theme song (it’s on Youtube if you don’t remember it… but HOW could you forget?!) “Welcome to Solid Gold… starring Marilyn McCoo…”
By the time the show was in its later years, I had moved on to bigger and better things (namely, cheerleading and crushes on boys), and I was a little more practical when it came to my future career (although my mom still swears I went through a phase of wanting to be a trapeze artist, as well).
So, while I did go on to become a teacher, a mommy, and yes, even a writer, in a very unofficial capacity, I still harbor a dream of being on stage, dressed in a shimmery outfit, dancing in front of an audience. If one of the television networks ever decides to produce a reality show called “Dancing with the Stay at Home Moms”, I have just the gal they can call on.
When I was a kid, I can distinctly remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. A teacher? Well, sometimes. A mommy? Of course, but being a mommy and having a career are not mutually exclusive, as most of us mommies can tell you. A blog writer? Haha… didn’t really see that in my future. No… when I grew up, my greatest aspiration was to be a Solid Gold Dancer.
Admit it… you wanted to be one, too! Who didn’t?!! Those great shimmery, body-hugging costumes? The 45 second dance routines? The side ponytails they were rockin’? And if you’re not familiar with the T.V. show, ‘Solid Gold’ (either because you are significantly younger than me, or perhaps you spent your youth in the Amish country), here’s a little info from Wikipedia:
Solid Gold is an American syndicated television series which aired from 1980 to 1988, usually on Saturday in the early evening time slot. During its 7th season (1986 to 1987), it was called Solid Gold '87, Finally, in its 8th season (1987 to 1988) it was retitled Solid Gold in Concert.
The main premise of Solid Gold consisted of the "Solid Gold Dancers" doing elaborate (and sometimes borderline risqué) dances to the top ten hits of the week. Many other specials aired in which the dancers would dance to older pop hits as well.
(Wow! You laugh… you learn…this blog has it all…) I can remember begging to be allowed to watch it. Thank goodness it didn’t come on at the same time as ‘Dallas’. (Yes, those of us who had our formative years in the early 80’s... you know just what I’m talking about!) That amazingly catchy Solid Gold theme song (it’s on Youtube if you don’t remember it… but HOW could you forget?!) “Welcome to Solid Gold… starring Marilyn McCoo…”
By the time the show was in its later years, I had moved on to bigger and better things (namely, cheerleading and crushes on boys), and I was a little more practical when it came to my future career (although my mom still swears I went through a phase of wanting to be a trapeze artist, as well).
So, while I did go on to become a teacher, a mommy, and yes, even a writer, in a very unofficial capacity, I still harbor a dream of being on stage, dressed in a shimmery outfit, dancing in front of an audience. If one of the television networks ever decides to produce a reality show called “Dancing with the Stay at Home Moms”, I have just the gal they can call on.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
BLT battle
It is beginning to appear that I have lost the battle, my friends. Which battle, you might ask? The battle to keep my house clean? Well yes, that one, too. But that’s not the one to which I’m referring. The battle to lose the last of the baby weight? Considering that my ‘baby’ is almost 4, I’m about to throw in the towel on that one, as well… but NO! That’s not the battle either. (Wow, what confidence boosters you all are! Jeez…)
I think I have lost the Halloween battle. I knew it was coming. I knew there would come a point when the kids would no longer ‘buy into’ my Halloween delusions, and would revolt against the ‘themed’ costumes. It was so much easier when they were younger, and they just had to wear what I made for them. Now, they have their own little opinions, dammit, and no amount of coercing is going to convince my children that we should be a BLT sandwich for Halloween.
Yes, you read that correctly. You know… two pieces of ‘bread’, with the bacon, lettuce and tomato. Count it up… it’s 5 things… we’re a family of 5… we could have been legendary in the neighborhood…(thanks, Katey, for the idea.) But nope. My own little bacon and veggies refused to go for it.
YOU try convincing a 4 year old little girl that she doesn’t REALLY want to be a princess for Halloween, and that she’d rather be a tomato. (oh, but the costume is soooo cute!) Even showing her the picture of the costume, and using that ‘high, excited’ voice that we mommies use when we’re trying to convince our child that going to the dentist is going to be “so much fun!” was not enough to sway the little ‘mater.
I knew it was a lost cause when I overhead Libby and Davis discussing costumes.
Davis: “I’m going to be a clone trooper for Halloween!”
Libby: “No, Davis. You can’t.”
Davis: “Yes, I am.”
Libby (sadly): “You have to be ‘Bacon Boy’.”
Davis: “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
So, gone are my images of the 5 of us, ringing doorbells on Halloween night, gathering candy, all the while dressed as a tasty lunch entrée. And I guess, in the end, it works out. Phil and I will also be going to an ‘adults only’ costume party, and going as 2 slices of bread wouldn’t really have made much sense or been very comfortable. (That is, until drink #3… at that point, who cares?!)
I guess its just one more step in this big ol’ game of life. My kids want to choose their own costumes and they don’t want to ‘match’ each other… that’s okay. I’ll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it, and realize that they’re getting older. It was inevitable. And honestly, I can guarantee that I’m the only one in this household that is even remotely bothered by this. I just know Phil’s not all that broken up by the fact that I won’t have some cheesy costume for him to wear this year (that I later turn into our family Christmas card… sorry, honey!) He’s probably breathing a huge sigh of relief.
But I’m not giving up completely. There IS the possibility that we can come to some amicable agreement in terms of the Halloween costumes. But I do know that the cute little BLT sandwich was a battle in which I would not have been victorious. I could have forced the issue, but where’s the fun in that?
Now, a peanut butter, jelly, and banana sandwich, on the other hand…
;-)
I think I have lost the Halloween battle. I knew it was coming. I knew there would come a point when the kids would no longer ‘buy into’ my Halloween delusions, and would revolt against the ‘themed’ costumes. It was so much easier when they were younger, and they just had to wear what I made for them. Now, they have their own little opinions, dammit, and no amount of coercing is going to convince my children that we should be a BLT sandwich for Halloween.
Yes, you read that correctly. You know… two pieces of ‘bread’, with the bacon, lettuce and tomato. Count it up… it’s 5 things… we’re a family of 5… we could have been legendary in the neighborhood…(thanks, Katey, for the idea.) But nope. My own little bacon and veggies refused to go for it.
YOU try convincing a 4 year old little girl that she doesn’t REALLY want to be a princess for Halloween, and that she’d rather be a tomato. (oh, but the costume is soooo cute!) Even showing her the picture of the costume, and using that ‘high, excited’ voice that we mommies use when we’re trying to convince our child that going to the dentist is going to be “so much fun!” was not enough to sway the little ‘mater.
I knew it was a lost cause when I overhead Libby and Davis discussing costumes.
Davis: “I’m going to be a clone trooper for Halloween!”
Libby: “No, Davis. You can’t.”
Davis: “Yes, I am.”
Libby (sadly): “You have to be ‘Bacon Boy’.”
Davis: “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
So, gone are my images of the 5 of us, ringing doorbells on Halloween night, gathering candy, all the while dressed as a tasty lunch entrée. And I guess, in the end, it works out. Phil and I will also be going to an ‘adults only’ costume party, and going as 2 slices of bread wouldn’t really have made much sense or been very comfortable. (That is, until drink #3… at that point, who cares?!)
I guess its just one more step in this big ol’ game of life. My kids want to choose their own costumes and they don’t want to ‘match’ each other… that’s okay. I’ll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it, and realize that they’re getting older. It was inevitable. And honestly, I can guarantee that I’m the only one in this household that is even remotely bothered by this. I just know Phil’s not all that broken up by the fact that I won’t have some cheesy costume for him to wear this year (that I later turn into our family Christmas card… sorry, honey!) He’s probably breathing a huge sigh of relief.
But I’m not giving up completely. There IS the possibility that we can come to some amicable agreement in terms of the Halloween costumes. But I do know that the cute little BLT sandwich was a battle in which I would not have been victorious. I could have forced the issue, but where’s the fun in that?
Now, a peanut butter, jelly, and banana sandwich, on the other hand…
;-)
Friday, September 26, 2008
In the mood for food
I think I must still be hungry. Trying to sit here and write and all that keeps coming to mind is food. I ate breakfast before I walked the kids to school, but food keeps popping up in my head (I feel like Homer Simpson… “Do-nuts…”)
I guess that’s understandable though. So much of a mommy’s life revolves around food. We prepare countless meals and snacks for our kids over the course of a single week. Heard this yet today? “Mommy, I’m huuuuuuuungry!” And this will be the first thing out of the kids’ mouths this afternoon when they get home from school: “Can I have a snack? Can I have another snack?” and at around 5:30: “Eeeewwww… THAT’S what’s for dinner?!”
Seems like I have quite a few conversations with my kids that are strictly about food. What they love (more often what they hate!), whether a food is a ‘Go’ food, a ‘Slow’ food, or a ‘WHOA’ food (thanks to the school P.E. teachers for those little gems).
And nobody likes the same thing in our family. One only wants cooked broccoli, while the other wants raw broccoli, and the third wants to eat the top part, but only if its dipped in ranch dressing. Same story for carrots, except in the reverse order. The girls will eat brussel sprouts without so much as a flinch. Davis, on the other hand, acts like they are mini hand grenades that will explode with a single touch. Josie hates chili. Davis loves chili. Libby just eats the beans out of the chili. Spaghetti? One wants extra sauce. One wants just a tiny bit of sauce. One wants just butter and cheese.
I’ve rarely ever made a dinner that got an across the board ‘thumbs-up’ from my kids. There is almost always one that won’t like some small portion of whatever it is. (“I don’t like sesame seeds on my bun!”)
So, it is up to me as the mother to make sure that everyone has their favorites. For this reason, I don’t mind preparing several different options at each meal, so that I ensure everyone has a balanced diet.
Hahahaha! Okay, I couldn’t get through that with a straight face. Sorry! (giggle) Pleeeeease!! Have you met me?!!!
Our food philosophy in this house? Well, it goes a little something like this: “You get what you get… and you don’t throw a fit.” Phil and I have also been known to say… “You don’t want to eat your dinner? Fine… then you’ll just be extra hungry at breakfast.”
I refuse to be manipulated by these little terrorists to whom I gave birth. I’m more than happy to load the table with ranch dressing, bbq sauce and ketchup so that they can ‘doctor’ their dinner to make it more palatable to their picky little tastes, but I absolutely will not be making special meals for anyone, anytime soon.
Just brush off those sesame seeds, my friend, and finish your dinner.
I guess that’s understandable though. So much of a mommy’s life revolves around food. We prepare countless meals and snacks for our kids over the course of a single week. Heard this yet today? “Mommy, I’m huuuuuuuungry!” And this will be the first thing out of the kids’ mouths this afternoon when they get home from school: “Can I have a snack? Can I have another snack?” and at around 5:30: “Eeeewwww… THAT’S what’s for dinner?!”
Seems like I have quite a few conversations with my kids that are strictly about food. What they love (more often what they hate!), whether a food is a ‘Go’ food, a ‘Slow’ food, or a ‘WHOA’ food (thanks to the school P.E. teachers for those little gems).
And nobody likes the same thing in our family. One only wants cooked broccoli, while the other wants raw broccoli, and the third wants to eat the top part, but only if its dipped in ranch dressing. Same story for carrots, except in the reverse order. The girls will eat brussel sprouts without so much as a flinch. Davis, on the other hand, acts like they are mini hand grenades that will explode with a single touch. Josie hates chili. Davis loves chili. Libby just eats the beans out of the chili. Spaghetti? One wants extra sauce. One wants just a tiny bit of sauce. One wants just butter and cheese.
I’ve rarely ever made a dinner that got an across the board ‘thumbs-up’ from my kids. There is almost always one that won’t like some small portion of whatever it is. (“I don’t like sesame seeds on my bun!”)
So, it is up to me as the mother to make sure that everyone has their favorites. For this reason, I don’t mind preparing several different options at each meal, so that I ensure everyone has a balanced diet.
Hahahaha! Okay, I couldn’t get through that with a straight face. Sorry! (giggle) Pleeeeease!! Have you met me?!!!
Our food philosophy in this house? Well, it goes a little something like this: “You get what you get… and you don’t throw a fit.” Phil and I have also been known to say… “You don’t want to eat your dinner? Fine… then you’ll just be extra hungry at breakfast.”
I refuse to be manipulated by these little terrorists to whom I gave birth. I’m more than happy to load the table with ranch dressing, bbq sauce and ketchup so that they can ‘doctor’ their dinner to make it more palatable to their picky little tastes, but I absolutely will not be making special meals for anyone, anytime soon.
Just brush off those sesame seeds, my friend, and finish your dinner.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Out of the mouths of babes
Ever been embarrassed as a parent? Ever wanted to crawl under a rock? Ever wanted to strangle your child in a public place? Can I get a ‘hell, yeah’?! Those adorable little munchkins say some of the damndest things, and right when you’re least expecting it. If you’re a parent, you’re totally feeling me on this.
Just the other day at the park, I was relating a story to my lovely friend, Sarah, about our lovely friend, Veronica, while pushing my lovely child, Libby, in the swing. (Hold on… it’s about to get a lot less lovely…)
V. had sent me a random email that morning and it basically just said… “Suck it. heehee” I laughed and sent her one back that said… you guessed it: “No, YOU suck it!” Now normally, my girlfriends and I are all very mature and would never say anything inappropriate like that (yeah, riiiiight…), but during Hairy Man Festival time, we all get a little punch drunk.
At this point during my story to Sarah, little Miss Libby turns around in the swing, giggles, and shouts, “No, Mommy! YOU suck it!”
Yep. Wow. It’s easy to forget sometimes that she hears every stinkin’ thing I say and repeats them at odd intervals. (Okay, but on that note, she did NOT get the whole ‘I can dance better without my panties’ thing from me. ;-)
And it’s not just Libby. Once in Wal-mart, Phil had put Davis in one of the little ‘truck carts’ (you know the ones that are great for the first 20 minutes, but then you’re wishing to hell that you’d just strapped them into a regular cart because they keep opening the door and getting out?!!) So anyway… a woman moves in front of them with her grocery cart, and my son (3 years old at the time) YELLS at her, “Hey lady! Watch where you’re going!”
To this day, Philip swears that he doesn’t know WHERE he heard that… (cough, cough… just a hint… it’s not Mommy that has the road rage!!)
So, here’s hoping that the older they get, the more they will know what NOT to repeat. Maybe Phil and I will just have to work a little harder to remember that ‘little pitchers have big ears’ (what the hell does that even mean?!) Otherwise we’re in a whole heap of trouble.
YOU suck it!
Just the other day at the park, I was relating a story to my lovely friend, Sarah, about our lovely friend, Veronica, while pushing my lovely child, Libby, in the swing. (Hold on… it’s about to get a lot less lovely…)
V. had sent me a random email that morning and it basically just said… “Suck it. heehee” I laughed and sent her one back that said… you guessed it: “No, YOU suck it!” Now normally, my girlfriends and I are all very mature and would never say anything inappropriate like that (yeah, riiiiight…), but during Hairy Man Festival time, we all get a little punch drunk.
At this point during my story to Sarah, little Miss Libby turns around in the swing, giggles, and shouts, “No, Mommy! YOU suck it!”
Yep. Wow. It’s easy to forget sometimes that she hears every stinkin’ thing I say and repeats them at odd intervals. (Okay, but on that note, she did NOT get the whole ‘I can dance better without my panties’ thing from me. ;-)
And it’s not just Libby. Once in Wal-mart, Phil had put Davis in one of the little ‘truck carts’ (you know the ones that are great for the first 20 minutes, but then you’re wishing to hell that you’d just strapped them into a regular cart because they keep opening the door and getting out?!!) So anyway… a woman moves in front of them with her grocery cart, and my son (3 years old at the time) YELLS at her, “Hey lady! Watch where you’re going!”
To this day, Philip swears that he doesn’t know WHERE he heard that… (cough, cough… just a hint… it’s not Mommy that has the road rage!!)
So, here’s hoping that the older they get, the more they will know what NOT to repeat. Maybe Phil and I will just have to work a little harder to remember that ‘little pitchers have big ears’ (what the hell does that even mean?!) Otherwise we’re in a whole heap of trouble.
YOU suck it!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Yak's milk...
I swear… all 3 of my kids have a snarky little sense of humor. Honest to God, I don’t know where they get it (hey… no comments from the peanut gallery!)
Josie, the oldest, lives in fantasyland sometimes, and ventures out long enough to tell us a story or two from her ‘world’. She’s always loved to write stories, and one of her favorite things to do is to fill her little brother’s head with a load of complete crap. (We call them ‘stories’… he calls them ‘lies’.)
My mother swears that I did the same exact thing to my little brother (Sorry, Chris. Well, for that, and for that time I blew pepper in your face, trying to get you to sneeze like a cartoon character, but instead it went in your eyes? Don’t remember that? Okay, never mind.)
So, Josie is forever telling Davis something just so ‘out there’ as to not be believed, and we’ll hear this… “Moooooooooom… Josie said…*FILL IN THE BLANK HERE*.” Or worse, he totally believes her, and ‘parrots’ it back until we have to tell him that whatever she told him was not true. Yesterday for instance, we were sitting at the kitchen table, having an afterschool snack, and here’s about how the conversation went:
Davis: “Mom, can I have more milk?”
Josie: “Davis, did you know that yaks make pink milk?”
Davis: “Really?!”
Me (laughing): “Davis, don’t believe your sister! Yaks do NOT make pink milk.”
Josie: “Mom… yes, they do.”
Me: “No, they don’t.”
Josie: “Yes, they do. I read it in a book.”
Me (in my ‘warning’ tone): “Josie, I’m going to Google it!”
***Sidenote: This usually works around here. The kids will even say that to us. “I don’t believe you, Dad! Mom, Google it!” Some families use Google as an educational tool… we use it to prove each other as lying little sacks of doody.
Josie: “Go ahead, Mom. I read it in 'The Big Book of Tell Me Why'.”
I proceed to Google it… and HOLY HELL! Did you know that yaks produce pink milk?! (well at least some varieties do) Raise your hand if you knew that?! You, there… put your hand down. You did NOT know that. It has something to do with the high fat content, blah, blah. I didn’t really read that part… I was just so stunned that this little factoid was true. She was actually telling him something that wasn’t a complete load of bunk! My ‘mother’ heart swelled full of love… until I heard this…
Josie: “And Davis, that’s where we get strawberry milk from.”
Davis: “Really?!!”
Oh, brother…
Josie, the oldest, lives in fantasyland sometimes, and ventures out long enough to tell us a story or two from her ‘world’. She’s always loved to write stories, and one of her favorite things to do is to fill her little brother’s head with a load of complete crap. (We call them ‘stories’… he calls them ‘lies’.)
My mother swears that I did the same exact thing to my little brother (Sorry, Chris. Well, for that, and for that time I blew pepper in your face, trying to get you to sneeze like a cartoon character, but instead it went in your eyes? Don’t remember that? Okay, never mind.)
So, Josie is forever telling Davis something just so ‘out there’ as to not be believed, and we’ll hear this… “Moooooooooom… Josie said…*FILL IN THE BLANK HERE*.” Or worse, he totally believes her, and ‘parrots’ it back until we have to tell him that whatever she told him was not true. Yesterday for instance, we were sitting at the kitchen table, having an afterschool snack, and here’s about how the conversation went:
Davis: “Mom, can I have more milk?”
Josie: “Davis, did you know that yaks make pink milk?”
Davis: “Really?!”
Me (laughing): “Davis, don’t believe your sister! Yaks do NOT make pink milk.”
Josie: “Mom… yes, they do.”
Me: “No, they don’t.”
Josie: “Yes, they do. I read it in a book.”
Me (in my ‘warning’ tone): “Josie, I’m going to Google it!”
***Sidenote: This usually works around here. The kids will even say that to us. “I don’t believe you, Dad! Mom, Google it!” Some families use Google as an educational tool… we use it to prove each other as lying little sacks of doody.
Josie: “Go ahead, Mom. I read it in 'The Big Book of Tell Me Why'.”
I proceed to Google it… and HOLY HELL! Did you know that yaks produce pink milk?! (well at least some varieties do) Raise your hand if you knew that?! You, there… put your hand down. You did NOT know that. It has something to do with the high fat content, blah, blah. I didn’t really read that part… I was just so stunned that this little factoid was true. She was actually telling him something that wasn’t a complete load of bunk! My ‘mother’ heart swelled full of love… until I heard this…
Josie: “And Davis, that’s where we get strawberry milk from.”
Davis: “Really?!!”
Oh, brother…
Monday, September 22, 2008
Let the bashing continue...
Wow… my last blog was very cathartic. And several of you told me you’d had similar experiences there, so I feel TOTALLY validated (thank you very much!)
So with that in mind, my ‘outing’ of area businesses shall continue. I have to find a new dry cleaner. Or more precisely, Phil has to find a new dry cleaner. I have so few ‘dry clean only’ clothes (Thank God!), and I’m pretty sure most of my stay-at-home mommy wardrobe (shorts and t-shirts from Old Navy) is wash and wear.
However, because I do stay home, the dry cleaning is typically my ‘domain’… the dropping off…. the picking up. I’ve never had a problem with it, but lately the cleaners has really gone downhill in their um… shall I say… ambience?
The last couple of trips in, I’ve detected an odor that can only be described with the following word… “Funkified”. The clothes don’t stink or anything (at least not that I’ve noticed), but the store lately has just not seemed that clean. I don’t know if they are under new management, if the recession has forced them to stop buying air freshener, or if they have just decided to abandon all pretenses of a well-run establishment. (I mean, seriously, that has to be a lot of pressure. Whaaaat? Mop the floors?!)
But it was my trip in last week that was the last straw. When I went in to pick up Phil’s slacks (I’m always having to pick up Phil’s slack… just kidding, honey!), the clerk ‘greeted’ me (and when I say ‘greeted’, it is in very loose terms. Is grunting actually considered a greeting?!) I didn’t look at him very closely, initially, and just put my ticket on the counter. He picked it up and turned to go to the back to get the order. It was at this point that I got a look at about the top 3 inches of his butt crack. Oh yes. It was positively delightful…all that chubby flesh hanging out of the top of his Fruit of the Looms. It’s a wonder I didn’t decide right then to leave my husband, and run off with Mr. Grunty.
But it was when he returned with the clothes, that I saw the bloody piece of tissue half-stuffed up his left nostril. (Yes, I know… I just threw up in my mouth a little, too.) And it was only the thought of my husband going to work in only his boxer shorts, that kept me from just leaving the clothes there, and running out, screaming.
Now, I know you’re dying to know where this is, either because you want to completely avoid it, or perhaps you’re worried that it is your dry cleaners and that the nose-picking Mr. Grunty is handling your clothing, as well. In the interest of being fair and using a ‘rhyming’ pseudonym for all businesses I decide to bash, all I can tell you is that I won’t be going back to “Ick’s”… way too ick…sick.
So with that in mind, my ‘outing’ of area businesses shall continue. I have to find a new dry cleaner. Or more precisely, Phil has to find a new dry cleaner. I have so few ‘dry clean only’ clothes (Thank God!), and I’m pretty sure most of my stay-at-home mommy wardrobe (shorts and t-shirts from Old Navy) is wash and wear.
However, because I do stay home, the dry cleaning is typically my ‘domain’… the dropping off…. the picking up. I’ve never had a problem with it, but lately the cleaners has really gone downhill in their um… shall I say… ambience?
The last couple of trips in, I’ve detected an odor that can only be described with the following word… “Funkified”. The clothes don’t stink or anything (at least not that I’ve noticed), but the store lately has just not seemed that clean. I don’t know if they are under new management, if the recession has forced them to stop buying air freshener, or if they have just decided to abandon all pretenses of a well-run establishment. (I mean, seriously, that has to be a lot of pressure. Whaaaat? Mop the floors?!)
But it was my trip in last week that was the last straw. When I went in to pick up Phil’s slacks (I’m always having to pick up Phil’s slack… just kidding, honey!), the clerk ‘greeted’ me (and when I say ‘greeted’, it is in very loose terms. Is grunting actually considered a greeting?!) I didn’t look at him very closely, initially, and just put my ticket on the counter. He picked it up and turned to go to the back to get the order. It was at this point that I got a look at about the top 3 inches of his butt crack. Oh yes. It was positively delightful…all that chubby flesh hanging out of the top of his Fruit of the Looms. It’s a wonder I didn’t decide right then to leave my husband, and run off with Mr. Grunty.
But it was when he returned with the clothes, that I saw the bloody piece of tissue half-stuffed up his left nostril. (Yes, I know… I just threw up in my mouth a little, too.) And it was only the thought of my husband going to work in only his boxer shorts, that kept me from just leaving the clothes there, and running out, screaming.
Now, I know you’re dying to know where this is, either because you want to completely avoid it, or perhaps you’re worried that it is your dry cleaners and that the nose-picking Mr. Grunty is handling your clothing, as well. In the interest of being fair and using a ‘rhyming’ pseudonym for all businesses I decide to bash, all I can tell you is that I won’t be going back to “Ick’s”… way too ick…sick.
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