Amy over at Muddy Boots tagged me for a meme, in which I share seven things about myself. First, let me say something about Amy — her blog is so warm and lovely and charming. Every time I read it, I feel like I’m curled up in front of a fire at a nice coffee shop, with a giant mocha-coffee thing in my hand, with a mound of whipped cream on top, and chocolate sprinkles, and a nice toffee-chip scone on the side, and… what was I saying? Ah yes, Amy’s place is like home away from home. You’ll like it there, you’ll learn how to throw an amazing birthday party, and you’ll see some beautiful photographs. Go see!
I like my lists with a theme, so I present to you:
Seven Things that Bug Me in a Minor Sort of Way
1. What is the deal with book jackets? Especially on children’s books? They used to make me so crazy — I’d spend all my time running around after the kids screeching, “DON’T RIP THE BOOK JACKET!” until my voice gave out. Eventually I saved my sanity by removing any and all book jackets from the kids’ bookshelf, and putting them in a cupboard under lock and key. Every so often I’d open the cupboard and lovingly dust them and accept accolades from them about how awesome I was at the book jacket protection business.
Then one day I totally lost my mind, and threw them all in the recycling bin. Because I am BAD. ASS.
Now any book jackets that come into this house go straight into the recycling. Book jackets beware! This is a no book jacket zone!
2. I have one really long, black hair that grows out of my chin. I just plucked it out about three minutes ago, but it’ll be back. There is also just one, single, black hair that grows out of my left shoulder. I’m thinking about embedding a mini GPS under my skin so wayward hairs can find their way home again. To the head, hairs! To the head! Rally to my war cry!
3. I really get ticked off when junk mail arrives in a plastic wrapper, forcing me to open the plastic in order to recycle the inside. I always think that it’s their secret plan to make me have a better look at their advertising crap by making me spend an extra 15 seconds tearing it open. But au contraire, junk mail persons! Your desire to further destroy the earth with your needless plastic packaging only makes me more resolved to not give your flyer one whit of my attention. Consider a simple staple in the future.
4. There’s only one thing I really don’t like about this house, and that’s that the powder room on the main floor is directly across from the front door. Our front door has a full height glass window in it. So if you pee with the door open — or if little hands open it for you — and it’s night, so you have the bathroom light on, but it’s dark outside, then HELLO WORLD, COME SEE MY VA-JAY-JAY.
5. Actually, one other thing that bugs is trying to do the laundry in wintertime, because the washer and dryer are located in our mud room. In winter, the mud room is wet, muddy, and smells like the inside of a 14-year-old boy’s hockey bag.
One time when Sir Monkeypants and I were newly married, we went to visit our bachelor friends Chris and Peter. They are both such nice guys, but their bathroom… oh my Lord. Let’s just say I’m glad that the mud room doesn’t smell like that. Sir Monkeypants discovered the Frat Bath about halfway through the party, and even though he’d been living there himself just a few months prior, he was horrified. He came out to say, “Dudes! What makes you think that when you go in there, you’re going to come out cleaner?”
And that’s exactly how I feel about the wintertime laundry situation.
By the way — I hope this does not sound sexist — but both Chris and Peter are married now and, I assume, have much cleaner bathrooms.
6. There’s something wrong with my head, such that toques don’t fit right. I’ve bought at least six of them this year alone and all of them either ride up, leaving me with a puffy bubble head, or they sink down and cover my eyes. If I try to roll up the rim to correct the fit, my ears get cold.
I’m so very un-Canadian.
The only toque-like hat that ever really fit me was my white Olympics hat, which was stolen at the Wendy’s, and we don’t want to get into that again, do we?
We’ve been watching a little bit of coverage from Vancouver, when the kids will let us, and they sometimes show clips from the last winter Olympics. Invariably, someone in the clip will be wearing my hat, and either the Captain or the Gal will exclaim, Mommy, Mommy, there is your hat! as if the poor Olympian used their time machine to pop over to the Wendy’s, pickpocket my toque, then return to 2006 Torino. It’s cute, though. I hope my hat is out winning a gold medal right now.
Potential hat stealing dudes:
7. It’s still winter. And I don’t have a hat. That stupid groundhog saw his shadow, or didn’t, whichever one means there’s plenty more winter where that came from, lady, and now we are officially broken up for the rest of the season.
I need a cup of tea. And a nap. And some naked chocolate eating while watching Olympic coverage never hurt anyone, either.