I have a major case of the blahs this morning. Perhaps it is the weather, the steel gray skies and chilly temps are a steady reminder that fall and winter are not just around the corner, but are trying like hell to parallel park out front. Thank goodness they are too far from the curb. Crap, now they just hit summer's front bumper. Maybe fall and winter might have to drive around the block and look for a different spot. I hope...
I am off to have some work done on the car today: routine maintenance stuff. I can think of many better things to do with my time, but it has to be done.
The boy spilled a glass of milk this morning. Why doesn't anyone in this family ever just spill water? Milk is the worst, it is sticky and smelly and nasty to clean. And I just washed towels yesterday (while I was supposed to be participating in an online sales meeting -- Yes it was that boring). I remember one time I dropped a jar of peanut butter and it shattered. How do you clean up a mess of smooth Jif filled with shards of glass? You cannot sweep it. You cannot mop it. You cannot wipe it up. You cannot pick up the glass and then wipe/mop/sweep. I guess spilled milk is better. One thing is certain -- I am not going to cry over it.
I don't want you to cry over it either -- not even you, Argentina.
1 comment:
Congratulations on making me thankful for plastic peanut butter jars.
Some messes are so impossible, they make you want to move out of your house. I don't care what you say about high fructose corn syrup, your kid spills a pop sweetened with that stuff on your linoleum and You. Are. Done.
My dad once threw a horribly caked pan out the back door.
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