Personal Statement

Personal Statement

Sunday, April 15, 2012


Big Kid had a church retreat this weekend, so the grandparents kept the Little Kid occupied yesterday while Spouse and I worked in the carriage house and backyard.  Container plant pots were evaluated for cracks.  Plants were transplanted.  Weeds were pulled.  A metric ton each of trash, recycling and "garage" sale were sorted through.  And, in the process, I came in contact with a variety of materials - some organic, some not - that my immune system did not appreciate.

Killer hives are back.  They woke me up an hour after I fell asleep.  I managed to get back to sleep, and slept until 7 am, when the thunderstorm started.  Elbowed Spouse, who took the dogs out before things got nasty.  Then I requested, and was presented with, two Benadryl, and promptly lapsed into a Benadryl-induced coma.  Spouse eventually vacated our room, but not before putting the small dog on the bed with me. (The small dog, being half dachshund and half corgi, cannot get on the bed on his own, so it's a big treat to be placed on the bed.)  I slumbered, with a small dog curled against my side, and a rotating cast of felines camped out on my feet, until just before 11 am (which was pickup time for the Big Kid), when I was awakened by Spouse frantically searching for keys.

"I have to meet the bus.  But I can't find my house keys, which have my car keys on them, and I can't find the  keys to your car, either."

"Okay, I had them last - no, wait, I had your house keys last.  You dropped me off, and I used your keys to get in, because I left my house keys at work by mistake.  Then you drove to my parents' to pick up the Little Kid and the dog, so you have my car keys."

Dig, dig.

"Oh, okay.  Here they are.  You can just lock me out, then, and let me back in.  Wait - I still need my keys, because I put your car in the garage, and I can't get into the garage without them, and I also can't get into my car to get the spare clicker without them."

"Did you try looking where I always put keys?" 


"Did you look in my purse?"


I sighed.  I got out of bed.  I looked where I always put keys.  And there they were - only, Spouse had put a bag of kitty litter pellets on top of them.  Funny thing about Spouse - when he looks for things, he doesn't think to move other things and look underneath.  There is a name for this disorder.  It's called "being male."

Then I remembered that Spouse went to Petsmart last night, which was the point of origin for said kitty litter pellets, and I remembered that Spouse let himself in and out of the house, which means that - after I put the keys were they are supposed to go - Spouse retrieved said keys, used them, returned them to their rightful spot, and THEN COVERED THEM WITH KITTY LITTER PELLETS.  I (narrowly) avoided telling Spouse that he was, in fact, the source of both of our problems.

Spouse left.  I tried to go back to sleep.  No luck.  I realized that I was hungry.  I called Spouse to demand reparations - in the form of a Subway sandwich, or takeout Chinese.  AND MY CALL WENT TO VOICE MAIL.  So I left a message:  "You woke me up.  For no good reason.  And now I demand reparations. Call me back."

Five minutes.  No return call.  I called again.  This time, he picked up.

"Where are you?"

"In the Sonic drive-through line."

"I demand reparations."

"I figured you might.   I ordered you a Route 44 diet cherry limeade."

"It's a start.  But I also require lunch."

"What do you want?"

"Chinese.  Or a sandwich.  Not Sonic.  SURPRISE ME."

He went with Panda Express.  Sweet-fire chicken and beef with broccoli, side order of lo mein.  And I agreed to cease killing him in my mind.

Taking more Benadryl.  To counteract the MSG.  And then going back to bed.  But not before making sure that all car and house keys are in ridiculously conspicuous locations.

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