Today’s Threefer:
Teeth: I’m serious. Stop falling apart. I don’t have ten or fifteen grand to fix you all this month, so just be patient. Yes, I know it’s been 16 years since I’ve taken you to a dentist, but you’ve waited that long, you can hold out for anothe couple of months. This guy has gas & pills. I will go back, so be a little more patient, please. Those of you who don’t will be pulled and replaced with a bridge, while the calm teeth will be repaired as soon as the very generous insurance cycles the fiscal calendar.
Ovaries and Uterus: Either work or don’t, but this “cramp and spot for 6 weeks, nothing for 12, cramp for a week and spot for a day, with daily hot flashes, new beard and massive pimples” bullshit has got to stop. I won’t be missing work to get scooped you out like a fucking cantaloupe, so make a decision, and make it now. Either way, I’m okay with it.
Relatives (including and especially those who have ever been called “mommy” by me or my husband): You weren’t invited to come stay with us this month because we don’t want you to stay with us this month. We just moved, are not yet unpacked (in fact, we can’t put the guest bed together because I have not yet found the fucking bolts for the frame. The bolts may possibly be in a box marked “xmas tree” or “garage” but they sure as hell aren’t in the boxes marked “G.B.” or even the one marked “parts” with every other fucking screw, bolt, nut, clip, nail or fastener in the old house), he is working 60+ hours a week trying to get a new project up and running, and I’m having some minor, but stressful, health issues. Neither of us have the time or inclination to deal with guests, much less high-maintenance, whiny guests. You are, at this time, a duty rather than a joy, so while you are here, please try to wipe your own ass without our loudly expressed validation. No, truly, none of us want our loudly expressed emotion of any kind at this time, take my word for it, now go the hell home. Luvyabye.
Screw it, make this a Five-fer.
Polite young men who packed my crap for moving: wouldn’t it have been less effort to pack the crap in each specific room with the rest of the crap in that room? Why was the Cascade (from the kitchen downstairs at the west end of the house) in the same box as one shoe rack, 2 left shoes (Upstairs west end) and the guest bedroom (upstairs, NE corner) linens, and the office (downstairs, SE corner) router and ream of printer paper? While I’m asking, why the fuck did you carefully package a roll of duct tape in bubble wrap, put a large cement garden statue on top of an unprotected lampshade,and then fill up the corners with canned tomatoes and lightbulbs? From four unrelated, entirely separate areas? Just how stoned were you, anyway?
Why isn’t Valium OTC with paperwork proving one is moving house?
