Tuesday, July 19, 2011


Dorkfish and I have had this running battle, argument, standoff about certain 'duties' around the house. I don't mind doing manly chores such as taking out the trash, fixing toilet leaks or mowing the grass. I typically do most of the cooking and I don't argue about cleaning up the mess after. But there are some things that I feel he can handle on his own. These include, but are not limited to, ironing his own clothes and packing his lunch. I typically provide enough dinner so he will have some for lunch the next day and see no reason he can't throw that in a bag himself. I have been chastised by my grandmother for not doing these things, but honestly, this isn't the 60's people. We are (or should be) equals in this house.

So when I spoke to one of his coworkers the other day and found out he had made a smartass comment about packing his own lunch, well, let's say I got creative. Apparently, she asked him what he was doing for lunch and he told her that he had to go to the cafeteria since his lovely wife hadn't packed his and then told her, "It's like having a dog and barking yourself." For those of you who don't speak 'smartass' that means I don't do my job...

Naturally, this makes me realize I need to step up to the plate and provide my lovely husband a lunch meal worthy of his service. He needs nourishment that will carry him through the day and ensure he doesn't tire while toiling away making tricity...

You're welcome, sweetheart.

Cat and All

Few things in life are more entertaining than listening to my grandmother tell a story. She can't tell a joke to save her life as she always forgets the punch line, but when it comes to a true, here's-how-it-all-went-down story...she's the master.

Last week, my neighbor T-racy, My Beesh and I were privy to one of Mam's famous story telling sessions. We had been discussing pets, specifically cats, and Mams chimes in, "Oh, that reminds me. Did I tell you Ethyl died? Well, she did. It was the oddest thing though. She had left behind this old cat she loved to pieces and so the family put the cat to sleep and buried her with it." She pauses, as all good story tellers do to allow that last statement to sink into the mind of the listener. As we all sat in silence and disbelief she continued, "Yep. My friend Betty had warned me before I walked in that the cat was in the casket, but I thought it was a stuffed cat or something. Nope. I walked up to pay my respects and there laid Ethyl, cat and all."

Only my grandmother...