Being the mom doesn't mean I am the f*&king maid

For the third day in a row, this shit has been on the floor of my family room.

You see it. I see it. Everyone sees it. That IS my wiener's ass there on the left.

You see it. I see it. Everyone sees it. That IS my wiener's ass there on the left.

I noticed it early Sunday, when we were all hanging doing a lot of nothing. I considered picking it up, but I didn’t. I just walked on by, all day long, like I would do on some random city street covered in stinky trash that’s slick with unidentifiable nasty goo full of deadly spores, flesh eating bacteria, rat turds, and saliva-snot.

But this trash isn’t toxic sludge in an alley, goddammit!

The trash is in my house, on my floor, mocking me, a symbol of something I can hardly wrap my  mind around, and as a card carrying member of team freak flag, I can process some severe weird, know what I'm saying?

Do the people I live with not see this? I wasn't sure and I didn't ask. I just watched.

Yesterday, Monday, I started at the trash on and off throughout the day. If someone stopped over unexpectedly, they would immediately notice the two random pieces of trash on my floor and wonder why the hell nobody, specifically me, would just pick them up. They might try to pick it up, and if they did, I’d say,

“If you dare pick that up, I swear I will slice you like a ripe avocado! LEAVE THAT SHIT ALONE!”

Sure, that sort of threatening yelling would probably scare the tits off 'em, but I'd slice them up some avocado and they would either forgive me and be happy or never come back. Either way, I'd be happy. But I digress.

Why didn’t I pick up the trash? Why won't I let my neighbor do it either? Why is the trash still there today?

Yesterday I wrote a blog, worked on my new blog site, wrote a bundle of (long overdue) thank you notes, ran two miles, walked the dogs, did two loads of laundry, washed the sheets and towels, cooked dinner, and cleaned up the kitchen. I considered cleaning the downstairs bathroom, and although I did not clean it, because I decided I’d do it today instead, I do believe that just thinking about it counts as a productive activity.

But I didn’t pick up the goddamn trash. And I’m not gonna do it today either.

I was really  productive yesterday, a motherfucking rockstar if I do say so myself, (and I do!) but that trash on the floor remains. I have a good reason for not picking it up and threatening my neighbor with bodily harm, but if I tell you the reason, you will think me a passive aggressive bitch with a bitter bug up my ass. I don’t really care what people think, so that’s not why I’m not explaining the reason I didn’t pick up the trash.

I’m not explaining, because I have a feeling you know exactafuckingly why I didn’t pick it up yesterday and why I’m not picking it up today, but I’ll give you a hint. I’m not picking up the trash on the floor for the same reason I’m not picking up any of this –

Something here probably has goo on it.

Something here probably has goo on it.

If you are one of those swirly, happy, domestic la-la moms, and you think I should gladly spend my time picking up the trail of filth my family leaves behind and want to school me about how you handle it, don't bother. Go sell your crazy somewhere else. I'm all stocked up here!

I'm going to go mow the fucking lawn now. I'm the mom, not the fucking maid. Sheesh...

Coming soon! October 2013 - MORE Moms Who Drink And Swear™

Coming soon! October 2013 - MORE Moms Who Drink And Swear™

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