you’ve heard the saying “when the cat’s away, the mice will play”? in the case of deployments try “when the cat’s away every mfing thing mrs. cat needs to do the household chores will break” knock on wood not necessary.
the first time I was ever left home alone after Daddy j and I were married all Hell broke loose. he went to the field for a month. I had JUST gotten out of the Army and we had just had our wedding.
the most ridiculous of the incidents occurred on a Saturday evening at about 550. I had just gotten back from the grocery store and came in and got all changed into my pjs (no bra of course) and decided to throw in a load of laundry. when I went out into the garage to run a load I stepped in about 6″ of water. I checked around and saw that there was something wrong with the drain area behind my washer. immediately grabbed my phone and called Saratoga homes… no answer. by this point, I realized it was 553 and the road I lived on had model homes at the end of it. i knew they were open until 6, so I figured I’d better hurry. somewhere in between being frazzled and insanity, I neglected to put on shoes and set out to find my car keys. I couldn’t find them anywhere. and so I decided in haste that since it was Safurday, I’d better walk down to the model homes and get ahold of someone who could call a plumber. oh yes, I walked in pajamas, barefoot, and braless about 10 houses down to the model home. when I got there I walked directly into the office and interrupted the salesmen (arms crossed across my chest for modesties sake) and let him know what was going down. he looked at me in all my grocery store feet glory, his mouth dropped to the floor, and he just mouthed breathlessly “what?!?” after a few head scratches, he got it fixed for me, but I’m sure to this day the legend of the barefoot braless wonder lives on.
today’s vacuum cleaner debacle occurred with much less fanfare, but with quite a few more 4-letter words. somewhere between my post-partum molting period and the cats we had accumulated roughly a tonnage of hair in our roller. apparently old brittle hair is better than flint wand a rock for starting a fire. at some point in my vacuuming I noticed the smell of burnt rubber and ass. stopping the machine, I realized that I was looking at enough hair to make a rug for the white house and still have some left over for an obama chia pet. freaking gross. I managed to get it taken apart and reassembled in a reasonable amount of time. the belt had a hole burnt in it and the bag needed replaced too. eiyiyi.
just waiting to see what’s next.
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