I woke up this morning and decided to be helpful. I’m the world’s worst houseguest — I never offer to help, do dishes, cook, etc. We figured out last night that that’s one reason why Crusie never feels guilt towards me. Because I’m always asking her to bring me things and I always give her such unvarnished truth (though occasionally I try and fail to be tactful about it) that she doesn’t have a chance to feel she’s done wrong or failed me. I just tell her what I need.
However, in an excess of zeal, I got up, started making steel cut oats and thought I’d wash the dishes while I waited. Then remembered a conversation yesterday where I said I never finished cleaning a kitchen, never wiped off the counters so it looked nice.
I decided to do so. Unfortunately Crusie had been painting in the middle of the night, and she’d used a fresh gallon of white paint for the chair legs. And I was just a tiny bit too forceful trying to wipe around it, and ga-thunk, splat, splash, goosh, and “fuck fuck fuck.”
Jenny comes flying up from downstairs, thinking I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
Makes me feel marginally better as she’s kneeling on the floor trying to soak up at least half a gallon of thick white acrylic paint that landed on the hardwood floor.
But the oatmeal didn’t burn, most of the paint is up (though I’m wearing some), Crusie’s gone back to bed and I’m sitting here with the fire, having eaten the most delicious big bowl of steel cut oatmeal (made with water coz I hate milk and always have), fresh strawberries and blueberries and Splenda brown sugar mix. (Probably too much real sugar in there but I didn’t use much).
So all is well and I can settle down and work for a while.
I’m just wondering what Alastair and Lani were doing upstairs while I was having my crisis. Guess they were … uh … otherwise occupied.
High point of last night: explaining blow jobs to Lani’s angelic twelve-year old daughter. (Of course Fake Aunt Krissie got tapped to do the job, and I … er … rose to the occasion, with Jenny’s helpful kibitzing because I was describing it from a woman performing said BJ and Lani and Jenny reminded me that men do too. Of course.)
Fortunately that child’s got an old, wicked soul.