smith101's Journal

Being the only female in a two male chauvinistic home, you can bet that even though I am the arthritic one that cleaning is "my job".

It’s ironically a job I will never loose no matter how disabled I become. For at that point I am certain fur face will hire someone to come in and clean up. Something of which I simply can’t stand for as I am CDO (OCD for those who don’t have the disorder) and a cleaning person could never do it right for me.

So here I am in this lovely home with two bathrooms and two grown men. I know things could be worse, they could be two preteen males!

You ladies all know where I am going with this. Tired males, inattentive, or just plain sloppy. Yes I have heard several times that you just don’t know the force at which it will come out or if it will even go straight at times. So why then can’t you take a tissue and clean up after yourself?

Both have proclaimed you simply can’t see it till it dries and then it doesn’t just mop up with a swipe. Sigh. Men.

So this morning I abruptly woke at 7:00AM and "shingled" my sink. I did the courtesy rinse of the sink, but as it had totally wore me out because I had hacked up not only a lung but vomited so apparently part of my stomach too, I was beat. My courtesy rinse apparently left a shingle or two behind.

So what should I hear at 8:00AM but sincere moans of putrefaction of the growdies I left in the sink. Bemoaning upon moans of how utterly gross this was and hurried steps to use the other "clean" bathroom.

Now first of all how did these two ever change a diaper? Both proclaim they have. I just don’t see it. Or perhaps they can handle the brown or green goo but heaven forbid a baby ever spit up on them! (Said in Monty Python Quest for the Holy Grail voice) Run away!

Then to top it off I got to hear about this delightful topic all through dinner. Yes a perfect time to discuss shingles in the sink don’t you think? Yes pass me the au gratin potatoes and peas and tell me some more how the sink looked!

And how many, many, many times have I gotten up, sat down on the toilet - no this is not they left the lid up complaint, it’s much worse - only to find my freshly put on sock soaking up or my new nylons seeping through with pee dribbles from some male who missed the target!

Cold, eventually sticky, pee puddles. Yet do I get to complain of this over their dinner. Nooooo. Even if I tried to we quickly refocus to the latest basketball game, or how the hot chic next door wears a thong when mowing, or the squeaky noise the truck is making.

And do they bother to clean up the shingles? Why noooooooo. Instead we find it highly amusing to put yellow caution tape across the bathroom door and write in my lipstick on the mirror, "CAUTION. Toxic Waste.", with an arrow pointing towards the sink.

I can obviously now see why I am living with these two pee puddlers. Because only their mother, their father, or this woman with the will of God in her could possible find any humor in this at all.