We’re always looking for some funny around here especially when “here” is the crapbox rental house and Biden/Ryan is providing “funny”.
So my husband has been crystal clear that he prefers to NOT be profiled in the ol’ blog except if it’s posts about his good qualities. He has a lot of good qualities…he’s a wonderful daddy to four girls having had no sisters to help guide him. And tonight he took out the garbage without being asked and I was super excited.
I’ve been laughing (to myself!) lately at his discomfiture of the girls own comfort-ure, so to speak, with themselves. Even the eldest strips down, throws her dirties in the communal hamper (it’s in the entry hall! Why wouldn’t it be? We live like hobos. Have I mentioned?) Then she casually struts off to the shower or bath or whatever method she’s chosen to clean herself for the week. Poor Daddy ends up staring at the ceiling and trying not to make eye-to-butt contact. I mean, he’ll change a baby diaper. But he prefers not to.
So I was laughing to myself at that today and then a hilarious daughter-related episode happened.
A week or so ago, a GIANT EARTH SHAKING FLIP OUT occurred with swears uttered and it wasn’t by me. Let’s be clear–I try to
share avoid pass blame, where I can–but in the case of the children uttering the swears, the blame rests squarely with television Daddy me. It’s me.
But last week. Oh Nellie. Daddy’s super nice, super swanky DVD Blue Ray thingy had been violated. It certainly wasn’t by me, as I can’t even turn it on. I had to find the Hooter the other day to operate the X-box in order to do my 10-Minute Abs video, and it was humiliating, sort of, but not really. No more humiliating than lying on the floor of the crapbox with my abs out as the twins (with washboard abs, on both of them) offered tips on my form.
This was from years ago--they're not giving up on my abs. My own abs, however, have given up on my abs.
But Daddy tried to put in a DVD and it didn’t work. Then tried another and it didn’t work. And then the bad words came and we knew who to blame.
She is never in trouble, because she’s mostly good and always cute. When she does bad stuff she smiles and hugs you and you don’t care that the walls are painted blue. But in this case she was in trouble because she’d evidently “broken the laser” and Daddy was mad.
Mommy is used to my stuff being destroyed at a ratio equivalent to protesters for the World Trade Organization (true confession: I had to ask my husband for that reference. I had it in my head, the mayhem and insanity, but couldn’t pin it down and I’m all bleary from listening to the “funny” of Ryan/Biden. What I meant to convey was my stuff gets destroyed by definition). I, as a result, have very little that is “nice”. Daddy, however, used to have a room for his good stuff. Now we all live in the same room, for the most part. And when they can get away with it, the kids like to be naked in the communal room. At least on the way to bathe.
But I digress. Shouting, yelling, bad words. Actually not that much shouting and yelling but definitely mad. And then miracle: evidently there is still a company in the world (besides Zappos) that cares about customer service, because though the prohibitively expensive player was out of warrantee, these kind folks said “Send it back, we’ll hook you up”. And Daddy did and they did. In 1 1/2 days. WHAT? And then fed-exed it back. Total charge: $23. Not bad.
And this is the report he got:
Complaint: We ran a full battery of tests on the machine and determined it did not play, as reported.
Diagnostic: After review, we removed the two business cards that had been inserted.
Result: Player now plays.
I could not stop laughing. These highly-trained folks got all around the player, looked at it carefully and gingerly, then pulled out TWO BUSINESS CARDS THAT THE BABY HAD STUCK IN. Then, instead of sending a report that said “You giant dope, pull the business cards out of your player before you send it to us!” they wrote it up and STAPLED the business cards in question to the report.
That is funny.
What a funny baby.
And what a good daddy because he laughed as hard as me at it.
Or are we just firmly round the bend?