I’m sitting in my dining room as I write to you. The leg of the table more resembles the end of a raw-hide bone than a carefully crafted wooden work of art. The varnished top, beautifully shining except for the silhouette of a girl scout sash eaten into the finish by the E6000 that oozed through the fabric and adhered the damn thing to the table while I glued on all the iron-on-my-ass (liars) patches. I still make my kids use placemats at mealtimes and lay down newspaper before crafting-habit I guess because there is absolutely no point.
From where I’m sitting I can’t see the hole my dog chewed in the family room rug because I strategically place the coffee table leg over it. Yes, the coffee table is split down the middle and I am totally aware that it clashes both in style and finish with the rest of the room. I decided it would be better suited as a porch coffee table, so I put it out there last year. The boards separated due to weathering and I considered throwing it to the curb. After my dog ate the leather ottoman I resorted to bringing it back into the house in lieu of having nothing to put my feet up on. Good thing too because without it I don’t know what my kids would slosh their cereal milk all over if it wasn’t here.
The T.V. is old, but it works and therefore is still in the room. I don’t get to watch it anymore, but that’s another story. The story is short: Kid eats snack at broken coffee table, kid has remote on the floor. Mom tells kid to pick it up so the dog doesn’t eat it. Kid nods without listening. Dog eats remote and now T.V. is stuck on the cartoon network, aka the-station-with-the-most-annoying-cartoons-known-to-moms. Now, sure, I could go to the cable company and pay for a new remote, but what would that teach my kids? Except for one painful flaw in my parenting tactic-while I’m teaching my kids a lesson I’m torturing myself.
*Good Mornin’. Good Mornin!*-Sweet Baby Jesus, I’ll be singing that damn song in my head all morning. That guy. The brainiac producer behind Uncle Grandpa is apparently some kind of idiot genius who’s living large off this stupid inbred creation while I pinch my heel in between the fucking boards of my coffee table and spill food down the front of myself daily.
I used to have nice things. Actually no I didn’t.
Before I had kids and pets to ruin my stuff I had no money to buy anything outside of things to sustain our mere existence, like food and shelter. All of our furniture was given to us or bought second hand. The ONE AND ONLY new piece…like went-to-the-store-and-picked-it-out NEW is a leather reclining couch. It’s awesome, comfortable and easy to clean. Also, three months after buying it we moved into our current house and, while carrying it out of the moving truck and into the house, a friend of ours-let’s call him Mark-dropped his end into the split rail fence and ripped a hole into back of the damn thing. Under normal circumstances no one would ever know. Under current circumstances the couch sits in front of a huge picture window and the hole is visible to all who enter.
Welcome to my home. You are not mistaken.That probably is cat piss you smell. My fat cat decided the walk from her favorite place to loaf is way too far from the litter box so she pissed right there in the hall. Apparently many times. I bought a carpet cleaner to battle the stench but getting rid of cat urine is not easy. I run that bitch every few months over the area. One of two things are happening there-the residue resurfaces periodically releasing more stink or my other cats think it’s a pit stop. Probably both things are happening actually. I’m not even going to discuss my bonus room turned cat room. I’m happy to have a room to lock up my over-sized rodents, but seriously. It’s disgusting. I don’t know how crazy cat ladies do it. Cats themselves are clean creatures but their habitats are filth. Aside from the hair-covered surfaces (an obvious by-product) I have one cat who likes to dump the water bowl, one cat who eats too fast and pukes and one cat who has to dig so deep in the litter she’s chucking turds and litter out of the box. The other two have decided that pile of litter on the floor must be a third option to piss in so combine all that with my laziness and it pretty much smells like a cavy nest back there.
One by one all of my tasteful knickknacks and decoration pieces have been destroyed. I’ve replaced them with nothing. I cleaned the house yesterday. This place is an echo chamber. Throw pillows: eaten. Antique baskets: eaten. Magazine basket: pissed in then thrown away. Couch blankets: chewed. Did I mention one of my cats likes to jump up on furniture and knock things off for my dog to eat? Yeah. That’s happening too. It’s like I’m living with a furry team of assholes.
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