Monday, Oct. 04, 2004 | 9:21 a.m.
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2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 kids and a husband
My husband tips the scales. I can't figure it out. When he's home, which is most of the time, the house becomes a mess. It flies in the face of logic. I mean, one more set of hands should make it all easier, right? They should add to the tidying, not subtract from it. And yet somehow, when he's around, piles of crap appear like magic. Coins here. Legos there (no! not from the kids!). Here a rubber band, there a cut-up fast food cup (don't ask, because even I don't understand). Receipts and paper everywhere. Electronic paraphernalia abounds -- from actual modules to naugahyde cases to empty cartons. Ugh, and don't ask about what he does with used kleenex. It drives me crazy the way he shits little Jeff Piles all over the house!
And while I'm complaining, because I do it so well, I am sick of dog and cat hair! My new couch is covered in cat hair -- covered in it! I haven't even had the couch for a week! And let's not talk about how much, um, "waste" these creatures leave in the catbox on a daily basis or their propensity for dragging dead leaves and ponytail holders all over creation. And for sure let's not talk about how much they love climbing into places they ought not climb so that they can knock as many breakable things over as possible. Whoever says cats aren't destructive hasn't met mine!
Dog hair all over the damned floor, unless I vacuum every hour on the hour. Ignore it? Impossible, since this place has white tile all over! And as if the hair wasn't enough, there are disgusting dog slobber smear marks all over the sliding glass door because the damned dogs can't just enjoy their time outside -- oh no! They have to claw at the door like that stupid "open open open" lady on the Mervyn's commercials anytime they're outside for more than two minutes.
Nina is a walking disaster area. But I can forgive her -- she's a baby, you know? It's kind of her job. Gabby, on the other hand? No excuse for that child and she is a slob. As anyone who has had her over can attest, clothes stay where they fall when she takes them off, wherever that might be. Underwear in the living room are the norm. Pens and pencils mysteriously apparate to the strangest places (why would someone need a pencil in the bathroom?!). I keep the door to her bedroom closed because I can't stand to look at it even after she's "cleaned" it. We have to argue with her to get her to take a bath -- when does the teenage obsession with hygiene start? I figure if I have to put up with premature teenage primadonna behavior, I should at least reap the benefits of not having to tell her to brush her hair because it looks like a mop!
I'm ready to evict them all, or at least, all of them except Nina. I figure I can at least deal with her disaster-wake if it's the only one. The rest of them can go live in squalor somewhere.
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