Sometimes I feel as though my life is a series of bad jokes. I wrote about some specific incidences here and here. Sometimes I wander the streets aimlessly wondering why I have such bizarre luck. I say things like "Why me?" and "I'm just trying to be a good person. Why does everything have to be so complicated all the time?"
Ok, seriously, I do not wander the streets. That would be a poor use of time and I never use my time poorly.
But I do wonder why everything is so complicated all the time. However, I can wonder that anywhere. I don't need to take to the streets for that level of pondering.
But first, speaking of bad jokes. Yesterday I put up a facebook status that sparked some concern. You see, the man and I went to see our lawyer and sign some papers regarding the sale of our house. You know, totally normal stuff. She asked us which bank account we wanted the money from the sale deposited into. I gave her a void cheque for my own personal account. She asked the man if he was okay with that. I guess that was the responsible thing for a lawyer to do. I made a joke that I was going to take all those many many dollars and run away from home.
And then I thought about it for real. For 7 seconds. It isn't a ton of money but it really is enough to run away with, buy some muumuu's and maybe find a hovel to sleep in on the beach in Oahu.
Head shake. Reverie done. Over it. Whoosh. What an awesome daydream. Just kidding. The man is way too handsome for me to leave over a few dollars. Plus the lawyer said, "why leave and make him happy when you could stay and make him miserable?" This was, by far, the most sound advice I had ever received. As if I was going to run away now.
And plus, I am nothing if not the kind of person who derives pleasure from the making the people I live with the most miserable I possibly can.
After all, after I have picked up the man's dirty socks, again, or Jack's dirty underwear off the kitchen counter, again, or rescued the wee one's toys from the dog, again, I am convinced all the people I live with are doing that very thing to me.
Time to retaliate. No?
I received a couple of emails, in regards to my facebook status, from concerned citizens that I might be announcing my marital separation via a facebook status update.
Come on now, people. I am classier than that.
So, after the visit with the lawyer, and a botched up facebook status, I went to Willacy, which was 2 minutes away, to get as much cleaning done as I possibly could before I had to go home and rescue the dog from her kennel.
I started vacuuming. It plugged up. I unplugged it. It plugged up again. I unplugged it. Again. It plugged up again. For the last time. For the life of me I could not shake the vacuum plugging culprit out. Let's not jump to any conclusions about the dust bunny level in my house. Or the fact that I was vacuuming things up I should not have been. Because that would lead one to the conclusion that my house was super disgusting. And that would be unkind. Correct, but unkind. Let's just assume the vacuum is old and not doing very well in it's later years.
Since, there was nothing left in the house that might aid me in my mission to unplug the vacuum I decided to move onto cleaning the fridge.
Things were going swimmingly. The freezer got clean, easy peasey. I pulled the fridge apart, started the scrub, cleaned drawers and doors and whatnot. I threw out onion skin and withered garlic. I was standing at the sink scrubbing the glass top from one of the drawers. I was holding it in one corner whilst scrubbing the goo off the sides of it when all of a sudden the entire thing was gone.
Like magic. Abracadabra. Disappeared. Gonzo. No longer in existence. It took a sec for me to realize what had happened. What that blast was in my face. Where the thing went to that I was just holding...... 2 seconds ago.
It was in about 3 million pieces. All over the sink (the one with the garburator), the floor, my feet, the counter.......
The tempered glass shattered and when I say shattered I mean there were now 3 million pieces of itty bitty glass all over the place.
Tempered glass so blasted temperamental. Geez louise. Settle down tempered glass.
And my vacuum didn't work, remember? So I called the man and asked for direct instruction as to what I was supposed to do in this situation. Because I was tired from being up at 4:30 with the stupid dog, my problem solving skills required some outside assistance.
He said, "leave it. I'll deal with it."
And that, my friends, is why a) I feel as though I should not have to clean Willacy, because it hates me and 2) I will not take the money and run. If I did, I'd have to clean up my own messes.
P.S. Today the phone rang. I went to answer it and it shocked me. Now the phone is toast. And also, the dog ate my laptop power cord. It never ends........