Getting ready for guests that will arrive on Thanksgiving will have you cleaning things around the house that had become those things you just don't notice anymore. Until you're planning your menu and look up from the kitchen table to discover a
fur coat fine layer of dust covering your decorative plates hanging on the wall above your head. And also on the window covering over the sink. And the tops of the cabinets. And if you decide to stand on a chair; the top of the microwave and refrigerator [and those last two things are a must clean because two of your guests are extremely tall].
Before you know it you're waist deep inside your oven
breaking your back and passing out on fumes gently wiping away the burnt on residue and cleaning solution because you don't want to set off your fire alarm while the family waits for turkey.
[Editor's Note: Jesus God I hate my oven]
Then you demand from your husband:
Me: My next oven is going to be self cleaning because this sucks [also, I might have dropped the F bomb]
Husband: C'mon. How often do you clean that thing anyway?
PMSing and already reaching for the steak knives How often DO YOU?
Husband: You're a big fat cry baby. [okay, he didn't say that he just called me mean I don't know whyyy perhaps it was my tone]
We finally hallelujah! had our last soccer game
ever ever ever of the season which means - all together now - team party. WoooOOOooo. There was pizza. Goody bags. And the worlds ugliest trophies. I'm not even kidding. Two words: Bobble head. [although, it may be one word, Google was torn]. Great. It's not enough to get a trophy for showing up; now they've gone and made them interactive. [should we start placing bets now as to when this will become a headless trophy?] I'm also willing to overlook that it is a boy.
Seriously, doesn't it look like a small child fell into a vat of hot bronze? And doesn't that just creep you the hell out? I don't trust it. Think I'll sleep on the lighter side.
Also at team parties? Small talk. Oh GAWD just kill me. I happened to choose a chair in the shade which also happened to be directly located next to a woman that, between you and me, is a bit of a sourpuss. She's one of those people that kind of barks when she talks and she's always disappointed in something. And. Never. Ever. Smiles. She's also the mother of twins and a younger third child.
Meanwhile, back at the small talk.
Me: What is the age difference between your children?
Her: TWO minutes!
And she was dead serious. She thought I meant the twins. She also thought I must be the dumbest person on the planet to ask the length of time between births of the two people that shared her womb simultaneously. Or? She forgot she had a third.
then she caught a ground squirrel with her bare hands and ate it
The small talk ended in one of those not often seen moments when it comes to Tootsie - speechless and mouth agape.