I really have a pet peeve when people post on Facebook that they’ve caught whatever virus is going around. Especially stomach viruses. Especially especially when those people have kids that go to Chaos Peanut’s school. Especially especially especially when they post it on my Facebook “wall.” As a warning. As if I can do anything about it.
I know the person who did that meant well. I just have a complex about sick kids – I dread it so much. Particularly Chaos Peanut, who the second a virus of any sort enters her body, is immediately transformed into Maximilien Robespierre.
Now I’m going to do the thing I hate and post about how we were all sick. We had a cold. First Bishop Mishegas got the cold and WTF? He is not supposed to be Patient Zero. Chaos Peanut is supposed to be Patient Zero and EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT HENCE THE WARNING ON MY FACEBOOK WALL.
But this time Patient Zero was the Bishop. He gave the cold to Chaos first, and then I got it, and finally Baby Peanut succumbed. A thoroughly miserable week.
Before we were completely recovered, and during the period of time that I was still getting notes home from school saying things like, “Chaos Peanut is not herself!” (subtext: You should have kept her home!) I had an appointment to get a dental implant from the Perky Periodontist. You’d be perky too if I just handed you a large chunk of the down payment on your seventh or eighth Lexus.
Before the appointment, the Perky Periodontist assured me that the procedure was “nothing.” He could do it in one appointment, no problem, I’d be amazed at how nothing it was.
Maybe I’m a big baby, but two hours on the chair plus sixteen gallons of Novocaine injected into the roof of my mouth plus sutures, OK, SUTURES, is NOT NOTHING. It still fu**ing hurts. Sutures! Not nothing!
Nevertheless, I mopped the floor tonight and then I had to come here and tell you that. It was rapidly reaching the critical mass between being a grimy floor and being a floory grime. And normally I wouldn’t even care except our oven broke – that always happens when you need french fries the most – and the landlord had to come in here to look at it. They’re nice, the landlords, and they don’t judge us about the toys and stuff, but they might look askance at the floory grime.
It reached critical mass today when Chaos Peanut decided to upend a bowl of pureed bananas on the floor. She was angry at the Bishop because she wanted bananas! “I want BANANAS!” she hollered, throwing her bananas at him. It was that kind of day.
First I tried Swiffering with those wet cloths, because I do not own a mop. The reason I do not own a mop is because I have this swifter thing. The reason I have this Swiftier thing is that my mom bought it for me. If she hadn’t, I would not even own a Swiftier thing. Anyway, the Swofterrer cloths basically did the inanimate object version of laughing at me, as they easily bypassed the grime and turned a gentle shade of grey as if all that were really on my kitchen floor was a light coating of respectable dust.
Cue me, on the floor, scrubbing with a kitchen scrubber sponge and hot soapy water.
NOW I have a grimy floor! But at least it’s not a floory grime!