because bacon makes everything better
Just because I work at home doesn't mean I'm everyone's personal maid. Contrary to popular beliefs, I actually try to WORK all day. I don't have time to go around picking up shit my kids leave strewn about. On the surface, my girls are cute... they're funny... they're smart (this is a matter of opinion) and they appear to be clean and well groomed. What people don't know is that they are actually filthy pigs shat from the bowels of hell.
The oldest spawn will be 17 years old this year. Over the years, she has struggled with lifting a fucking finger to help make my life a little easier. She isn't interested in making my life easier. All she is interested in is living like a slob. When she was 13, she used to hoard dirty dishes in her room. I kept buying tumblers and bowls thinking some serial dish robber was sneaking in through my kitchen window to snatch my shit up. I even made a booby trap out of broken wine bottles on the windowsill to try to catch that motherfucker once and for all. But, when I found a bowl of moldy, stinky, milk swollen cheerios stashed away in her bathroom cabinet while searching desperately for a tampon, I knew who the real thief was. My fucking kid.
So, what did I do? I put Hubber on the case. He turned that room upside down and found crusty forks under mattresses, cups stacked behind books, petrified pizza crusts in file cabinet drawers, and bowls growing science experiments under the bed and in the closet. The craziest thing (because evidently, that shit isn't crazy enough), was that when we questioned her about it, she acted completely dumbfounded like she had no clue where all that shit came from.
Me: What the fuck were you thinking? How long has this been going on?
1st Spawn: I didn't do it. I swear! I don't know where any of that stuff came from.
Hubber: I'll tell you where it came from! It came from you dragging shit up to your room and hiding it because you were too damn lazy to bring it back down to the kitchen... or throw it in the trash.
1st Spawn: Daddy, I swear! I didn't do it!
Hubber: Well then WHO did?
1st Spawn: I don't know. Maybe it was a ghost. I told you there are ghosts in this house! (find more on the pesky ghost here)
Yeah, that's how the conversation went. And, Hubber kept arguing with her because that's what he does. And, do you think the dish stashing stopped after that argument? It didn't. It went on for the next few months (or years... as it turns out because we found fresh stashes of shit when we moved out of the house last year). Even the contraction of staph infections didn't change her lazy ways.
After we moved and the route between her bedroom and the kitchen became almost non-existent, the hording of dirty dishes seemed to get better but other slobbish habits took over.
- She can't seem to close a drawer. The clothes in the drawers aren't even overflowing. It would take literally 2 seconds to shove them closed with a hip while walking by.
WTF? Just close the damn drawers!
- She can't seem to toss empty toilet paper rolls in the trash can that sits right under the toilet paper roll holder.
- She collects hair on her shower wall. Hair. Long, gnarly strands of hair. Her logic to collecting hair there is that it's better than clogging the drain. Never mind the fact there is a trash can right next to the fucking tub.
- She co-mingles clean clothes with dirty clothes and can't keep track of what is clean and what is dirty, so when she's getting dressed in the morning, she tosses a shirt and a pair of jeans into the dryer with a dryer sheet to "dewrinkle" it, she says. More like "freshen it up" so she doesn't smell like sweaty cooch and gym socks.
But it's not just her pig pen lifestyle that drives me nuts, she's also a lazy heifer who will fall over dead if she has to help do anything remotely related to housework. It takes her 2 hours to wash 4 plates, 4 forks and 4 cups because she suddenly has to take a shit, then she cuts herself on the tip of a fork and starts bleeding profusely, then she bumps her head on the razor sharp edge of an open cabinet door and blood starts pooling in her eye, then she slips on dog drool and strains a hamstring which prohibits the ability to bend and load the dishwasher.
Her sister has officially started following in her footsteps. I've tried to instill in the littlest spawn the importance of proper hygiene and picking up after her damn self. Has she learned one fucking thing? No. She wears Depends-for-Kids because she has bladder issues at night and I got tired of washing pee-soaked sheets every fucking day. But, can she remove the pull-up and place it in the garbage? No. She removes it, then leaves it in the middle of the bedroom floor where it transfers pee stink into the carpet and into the air. She will make games of jumping over the damn thing. She will build barriers around it so that the dog doesn't snatch it up. But, she will not pick it up without a fight.
Why? Because "it's gross, Moooom!", and she doesn't want to get pee on her fingers. This from the same kid who to this day will pluck boogers out of her nose and eat them for snacks throughout the day. The same kid who will take a shit, NOT wipe properly a wear shit encrusted panties all day. The same kid who will scratch her ass and sniff her fingers. The same kid who chews on her own fucking toenails.
|Turns out the dog is grossed out, too.|
The other day when the girls' toilet was clogged beyond Hubber's ability to remedy it, the plumber came in, stepped over two swollen pull-ups, around a pile of clothes lying on the floor next to an empty laundry basket, and past a drawer full of teenager thongs. Behind the toilet, he spotted an empty popcorn bag and a glass half-full of green muck that was once a banana smoothie.
And you people wonder why I drink.