Thursday, September 01, 2016
Aaaah! The Exterminator Is Coming!
I've mentioned the exterminator comes to our house. The funny thing is, he's been coming while the kids were at school, so even though I told them he comes into every room of the house, the full impact of this had not hit them until one day when they were out of school.
Suddenly my kids were in a cleaning frenzy. Floors were appearing in their bedrooms. Surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day since we moved here seventeen years ago were suddenly gleaming.
Clothes were put in drawers and hung in closets. It was like the apocalypse was at hand.
I decided having an exterminator was well worth the money - what else would get teenagers to clean their rooms?
Anyway, I got up this morning feeling ambitious. I sometimes have these wonderful little ah-ha moments when I first wake up. Solutions to problems will come to mind and I'll suddenly see an easy way to solve something that had been plaguing me.
So this morning I wake up realizing how to create more room in my closet.
I pull everything out, stuff is strewn here and there, but I'm feeling good about the whole thing, I know everything's going to be better when I'm done. I'm up to my armpits in my project when I hear a strange noise.
It's a vacuum.
And I'm not the one running it.
The enormity hits me. Someone is vacuuming their room! And no one used any kind of extortion to get them to do it!
It's happening voluntarily!!!!! Just as I was about to expire from the shock and just when I thought my poor little overworked heart could take no more, another kid approaches me wondering where the vacuum is.
Then it occurs me. The exterminator is coming. Today.
This odd phenomenon occurs when he's coming for some inexplicable reason.
I laugh to my self. Then turn to my task. I stop what I'm doing and for one heart stopping moment I look around at the chaos I've created. The contents of my closet have regurgitated themselves all over my room. There's not a clear bit of carpet to be seen.
Oh dear.
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Stories
I like to tell stories. Stories about my life, stories about my parents, stories about grandparents, about my children ... pretty much anything that happened ever.
I didn't realize this trait had carried over into my children until we were expecting the exterminator to come and they were telling exterminator stories.
Exterminator stories. Really? All he does is come in and silently traipse through the house with his little backpack and spray wand. Then I hand him a check and he leaves.
There's no interaction. My children don't say a word to him, and yet he's left enough of an impression on their lives to warrant stories.
It makes me wonder what kind of lasting impression we make on others, no matter how fleeting, when we think we are living in isolation and touching no one.
It makes me wonder if the claim 'it's my life and I can do what I want' is really true. Is it my life?
Only my life? I effect no one else? Isn't that a little narcissistic?
Aren't the things we do like little ripples of water touching the ripples of other's lives and creating new patterns?
I didn't realize this trait had carried over into my children until we were expecting the exterminator to come and they were telling exterminator stories.
Exterminator stories. Really? All he does is come in and silently traipse through the house with his little backpack and spray wand. Then I hand him a check and he leaves.
There's no interaction. My children don't say a word to him, and yet he's left enough of an impression on their lives to warrant stories.
It makes me wonder what kind of lasting impression we make on others, no matter how fleeting, when we think we are living in isolation and touching no one.
It makes me wonder if the claim 'it's my life and I can do what I want' is really true. Is it my life?
Only my life? I effect no one else? Isn't that a little narcissistic?
Aren't the things we do like little ripples of water touching the ripples of other's lives and creating new patterns?
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Crooked Smile
It's time to discuss another romance novel cliche! Oh boy! You know how I love those!
This time it's the male lead's crooked smile! I know! You love them! I know it because so many male love interests have one!
So I've been wondering, if we took a survey, what percentage of men would have crooked smiles? How would that compare to the percentage of romantic males in novels?
Men have a distinct disadvantage over women in this regard, whereas a female might feel scarred for life over not having the ability to look through her eye lashes, (this has been discussed in a previous post) I suspect men are blissfully unaware that love is so dependent on a crooked smile.
Perhaps this is why nerds are nerds. Many men don't read romance novels. Any publisher will tell you the target audience for romance is people of the female persuasion. Don't argue the point with me, I'm just stating the way it is.
Now how is a guy supposed to understand how to not be a nerd and how to be a romantic hero if he doesn't read romance? There is a sad lack of critical education going on here. A guy could be born, live and die a nerd and never know it.
No wonder the 'male ego' is a thing. How is society supposed to manipulate and subvert men with this kind of business going on? How are men supposed to find out they should have crooked smiles and rumpled hair in order to find true love?
Instead they go around defying all the rules without having these horrifying deficiencies hanging over their heads and destroying all hope of happiness.
Life is so unfair.
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