Hi! You know what? I sure am annoyed lately! I was just scribbling down some thoughts for Finslippy, and, well, oh dear:
1. Drivers who reluctantly slow down at stop signs and give the pedestrian a testy little wave, as if to say, “I am doing you an enormous favor. Now scurry along before I change my mind and mow you down.” There needs to be a new obscene hand gesture that indicates, “Hey, jackass, guess what? I don’t need your permission. Stop signs aren’t optional so don’t act like you’re so very generous and I should be grateful. And you’re a jackass. Jackass.” I must begin work on this gesture immediately. To the laboratory!
2. The family members who sometimes behave as if they are not fully aware that Henry knows what words mean. They believe, for instance, that as long as they didn’t use the word B-U-G-S to refer to the B-U-G-S that were invading the basement when we arrived for a visit—as my son, you see, has a crippling fear of the B-U-G-S—he would not pick up on something being amiss even when they came tearing ass up from the basement hissing “OH MY GOD THEY’RE EVERYWHERE THEY’RE ALL OVER HIS TOYS.” And when they’re whispering updates to me on the TERROR FROM BELOW while Henry looks up from his Matchbox cars in wide-eyed horror, it should come as no surprise that the remaining hours of our visit are spent with 40 pounds of boy adhered to me via the Four-Pointed Ninja Monkey Vise Grip around my torso and neck.
3. Dear husband: what do you want from me when you shout from the kitchen, “Jesus, what did you clean with this sponge?” Is there some answer I can give you that would be satisfactory? Would you like to hear that I was exfoliating my cleavage? Or do you imagine that I store a mental tally of all the items I have scrubbed clean, so that hours later I can sit back and enjoy the memories? What a thrilling moment, when I finally rid the casserole dish of those baked-on lasagna bits. Ah, life. Anyway, could you not simply toss the dirty sponge and retrieve a clean one from our under-sink bounty of unused sponges? Should I scamper to your side and find you an acceptable sponge as you watch in manly approval?
4. People who refer to their husbands as “Hubs” or the “The Hubster.” All I can say about this is: no. That’s all. Just: no. I know some of you do it. And I like you! I do! But no. You must stop. Do you hear me? No!
To those readers new to Finslippy, I’m not normally this peeved. Truly. Some days I am positively ebullient. But lately, whew, so negative! I’m sure I’ll perk up one of these days, perhaps when everyone begins to behave exactly as I feel they should.
On a possibly related note, my son has been cursing lately. I don’t believe he’s cursing for effect, as he doesn’t check us for a reaction—as he might do before he, say, brains another child with a dump truck. For example: the other day he made himself comfortable on the couch—raisins? Check. Sippy cup? Check— and called out: “Turn on the TV.” Before I could respond, he repeated, “Turn on the damn TV, please.” Well! And then yesterday, as he pulled an oversized book from the shelf, he exclaimed, “Wow—this is a big fucking book!”
I tried my best not to laugh, but I did anyway. Luckily he didn’t notice, as he was hidden behind the big fucking book.