May 08 2006
If I run away from home…
You can bet it will be for one of these reasons:
- Everyone insists on taking the clothing off inside out, creating an extra step for me when I’m doing The Worst Job In The Entire House.
- Shoes in the family room. ‘Nuff said.
- RINSE AND STACK, people, RINSE AND STACK. It’s not rocket surgery!
- The clutter! Oh, Christ on a bike, where does it all come from?
- Why can’t I ever find the scissors when I need them? For the love of all that is holy, can people please put the scissors back where they belong?
- Because the two car garage is full of crap and tools and wood and table saws and, hell, I’d bet Jimmy Hoffa is in there, and it cannot accommodate even ONE car and it chaps my ass. Totally.
- Husband’s eBay habit. And in my best Forrest Gump voice, “And that’s all I got to say about THAT.”
- Did I mention the never ending piles of laundry so tall that they block out the sun?
- I’m drowning in the drool. Oh, please, someone make the drool stop.
- Why does the phone have to ring? Why do people want to TALK to me? Can’t people just please leave me alone?
If I did run away from home, and you wanted to find me, you might start by looking in, oh, say a Buddhist monastery or something. Quiet. Peaceful. Restful. Minimalistic. Clean. No phones and maybe even no shoes. I’d wear the same burlap robe day after day creating no dirty laundry. No car and no garage. And I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing that the scissors are always right where they are supposed to be.
But first - reassure me: they have wi-fi Internet access there, right?
