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Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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10:50 a.m. - 2003-05-15
The concert was good. Alex had a short solo during the jazz band's rendition of "Alexander's Rag Time Band" which I felt was rather apropos. Heh. Saw the Hobbit House's previous owner at the concert last night and had a momentary attack of the smugs. The temptation to say, "Yo, Queen of Kountry Kute, wanna come over and see what we did to your house?" was nigh on overwhelming, but I restrained myself. Our changes aside, that house probably doesn't have the best memories for her and visiting the place her marriage went to hell likely wouldn't be high on her agenda. I settled for a snarky smile and a wave. Mike's out at the new house today standing guard over our trees. The utility company sent a notice that the tree trimmers would be coming through today. There are many horror stories about the Asplundh sub-contractors hired by the utilities. Stories of butchered trees, the WRONG trees being hacked down to stumps, and that expediency is the watchword. They'll simply shear off anything that MIGHT grow near the power lines sometime this century. The arborvite along the road edge are nearly 100 years old. These slow growing evergreens are like Lebanon cedars in that they live forever and take a decade to grow a couple inches. There is ONE branch on ONE arborvite which is near the power lines and we will agree to have that branch trimmed, but I know these Asplundh guys, if Mike wasn't there to supervise they'd just mow down the whole row. Those 10 trees represent almost a millennia of growth and Mike and I will be dipped if we'll let some care-nothings with chainsaws destroy them. Ditto the ginormous pines on the other side of the driveway. These guys are about 50' tall and show scars of butcherings past. Again the couple branches that pose a risk to the power lines can be trimmed, but that's it. While Mike's out there, he'll be fixing the shower in the tiny downstairs bathroom. A pipe burst over the winter and Mike's had the water shut off ever since. This wee closet of a bathroom is going to be my private domain. It's off the sun porch that will be my office and I have staked claim to it. I HAVE trained my men to put the seat down. Punishment for leaving the seat up is to clean the whole bathroom, and I mean scrub it- not just give it a smeary wipe down with a face cloth. The men learned right quick that majority rule is invalid when it comes to toilet seat courtesy. Lone female I may be, but the seat is put back down or they face my wrath. But training goes just so far and while the seat may be in its rightful position, nothing is grosser than the hit or miss method of male urination. I'm tired of the corona of urine around my toilet bowl. Plus I'm tired of whiskers and shaving creme glop in the sink. I'm tired of the guys "forgetting" to put a new bar of their soap in the tub and using my special pricey girlie soap. I'm sick of them doing the same number on my shampoo and deodorant, and if Mike ruins one more of my loofahs trying to scrub pipe adhesive off his arms I will beat him 'til he bleeds. So. The upstairs bathroom is for the man-zoo and the little bath downstairs is MINE. I will happily keep their bathroom stocked with razors, and Lava soap, and manly man deodorant, and their nasty dandruff shampoo. They can sprinkle all they want and leave enough gooey whisker mess in the sink to mortar a log cabin and wipe their grungy hands on the towels. All I ask is that they stay the hell out of MY bathroom and leave my stuff alone. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, you know? Today's Pick: "A Maiden Did Bathing Go"- Folk Traditional
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