I feel like I’m on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
My daughter is applying to high school.
My son is maybe applying to middle school.
One of our bathtubs is clogged. The second bathtub is fine, but who knows how long it is before it starts to clog in sympathy?
I don’t want to write about clogged bathtubs.
Not even a little.
I don’t want to explain how when I wash the dishes in the sink that is in the kitchen, the bathtub that is in the bathroom starts to fill up with blood.
Fine, dirty water.
But it would be better if it were blood, because then I’d call the police and they’d send someone over to have a look and clean it up and probably bring me a snack.
And then I’d have a kick ass blog post.
Instead, I have dirty dish water in my bathtub and a superintendent who is on vacation.
“Am I supposed to live like this until he gets back?” I ask Husbandrinka because I don’t know what kind of bullshit this is but it’s definitely not the style to which I’d become accustomed and he says, “Just use the other bathroom.”
If it were blood, he wouldn’t have said that.
And then Young Ladrinka goes to get a slice of raisin bread (this is unrelated to the bathtub. As far as I know) and when I look in the kitchen, this is what I see.
Please to explain to me why the raisin bread wrapper could not make it to Mr. Trashcan?
And why is absolutely everything conspiring to give me a nervous breakdown?!
But! Before you start feeling sorry for Young Ladrinka’s future wife, check this out. It’s his very own secret recipe that he makes for us. With love. And probably unwashed hands.
One year ago ...