Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Yes, Okay, I Miss the Butcher

It's been a week and I'm ready to have his sorry ass back home. Let's use science to explore why. In the past seven days: Number of people who have asked me every single evening how my day was and were actually interested: 0 Number of heavily tattooed green mohawked idiots who don't read Chinese and yet have some Chinese characters they hope mean "pain" tattooed very visibly on the back of their necks who have called and said "Hey, there, B., how you doing?" and to whom I have said "Are you going to marry me, yet or what?" who have replied in return, "Not yet." and laughed before saying "Is the idiot there?": 0 Number of heavily tattooed scrawny ex-army dudes who've come over to see if the Butcher can drive them to the grocery store, which is about 15 blocks from here, even though they walk from here to the river for their job and back every day: 0 Number of red-headed kids who've arrived unannounced to sit in my brown chair and say "Dude, you're not going to believe..." and backed it up with some crazy ass story you wouldn't ever believe, except that the redheaded kid is always getting into the strangest trouble: 0 Number of elaborate wrestling matches complete with body slams that the orange cat has been involved in: 0 Number of nights I've come home dog tired and hating my life only to find someone ready to take me out to dinner unannounced: 0 Number of times I've been sitting on the couch and thought of some random thing, like when the cat we had in high school ate the sausage off the last little bit of pizza and even though the kid who would go on to be a neo-Nazi saw the cat eat off it, still picked it up and ate the rest of it, and I can start to say "Do you remember when the cat ate..." only to have the Butcher be reminded of that former future neo-Nazi's one-eyed cat who snuck into the church during communion one Christmas eve and how the high school football team thought they should chase him, so he says "How did that linebacker fit under that pew anyway?" and I start laughing and he start laughing, because we both know exactly what I just told you without having to go through it: 0 Number of times I've forgotten that there's no toilet paper in the upstairs bathroom and wished someone could bring me up some so that I wouldn't have to waste Kleenex: 3 Number of times I've gotten up in the middle of the night to check to see if he was home yet, half pissed off because it's my car, damn it and he's out there gallivanting around with it, only to realize that he's not: 1 Number of hours that I've spent cleaning the living room which I would say looks like a frat house except that would be an insult to frat houses everywhere: 0 --Ha, ha, sucker! I left the mess for you.

3 Comments:

Blogger Peggasus said...

It mostly, kinda sounds like being a mom.

Except, you know, without the whole giving-birth part.

10/06/2005 12:58:00 AM  
Blogger Twyla said...

Heart warming post, in an off-kilter way. I'm with Peg, you've got the mom stuff down.

10/06/2005 07:39:00 AM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Hmm. "Mom." Let me tell you, after four hours with the youngest nephew, I'm not sure I'd ever be up for this "Mom" shit. I'd need some kids who could entertain themselves. And not startle me when I'm fishing baked potatos out of the oven. Ouch.

10/06/2005 08:30:00 PM  

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