Monday, June 14, 2004
Upon my return from present-shopping with Lindsay I went into my bedroom [Kailey's bedroom, really- I'm just sleeping there on an air mattress for two months, but for brevity I shall reference it as "my bedroom"] for a nap around three o'clock. During my slumber The Father's Wife cleaned around the house (vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms), and by the time I woke up, she had pretty much finished. I came out and asked if she had anything she wanted me to do, but she smiled sweetly and said she did not. As a semi-apology, I told her she could have gotten me up to help her, and as she walked up the stairs, she growled something to the extent of, "That's all right, but you know, I shouldn't have to tell y'all when the bathroom needs cleaning. I've waited and waited, but no one bothered to do it..."
For one thing, it's been less than a week since the kids' bathroom was cleaned (by Terri, I'll admit). It wasn't even dirty today, except for a stray hair or two lying around the sink- literally, two or three hairs. But fine- this is her house, and she can be as anal about it as she wants; I would be, too. However, I take umbrage with her insinuation that I must not do any housework, ever. I try to do the dishes after dinner, for instance, but she won't let me. I've kept out of trying to do chores because The Father informed me they had some magical system by which each kid (including Terri's) performs certain chores each week on a cyclical basis. I've just been waiting for them to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.
And besides, this isn't my house, so I don't know where the cleaning stuff is. That's excuse enough to avoid doing anything!
Anyhow, The Father just walked in the door as I wrote this post, so I gave him a little sob episode, telling him that they'd better make up their goddamn minds about what they want me doing, chore-wise. I also took The Mongoloid aside (he is The Mess-Leaving Culprit) and threatened a whooping-upon if I caught him leaving Doritos on the floor, washcloths in the bathroom, et cetera.
Sigh... well, Lindsay returns in about half an hour to whisk me away for fun and games celebrating the birth of Donna. The festivities will provide an escape from The Brady Bunch From Hell with which I find myself contending.
The Father getting remarried was all cute and fascinating until he made me live with them. Now I just want to retch.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:54 PM]