And I mean it. First, I slept in on this beautiful day- got the kids up, tossed a pile of laundry over the banister to do some laundry, and decided to once again set the roomba- since nobody knows how to use a plate when eating- especially a poppyseed bagel. In fact, forget Trader Joes and their package of “everything” seasoning- people could just coat their bagel in butter and swish it around my floors.
In any event, the one important thing you should know is that I have difficulty either catching my breath- breathing, or taking a deep breath. That means, I can no longer shout at my children to do anything- something that has hit me the hardest. But I digress- I cannot shout is my point.
My elderly dog who is alive for the soul purpose of eating through my trash and leaving a shit trail for my eyes only- tripped over the 5 foot white wooden gate. I preface this as 5 feet and white because even hubby would see it. And when she tripped over the homemade blockade I put up so that I could just have the roobma clean my kitchen area, NYC Horse Carriage like shit plopped out- funny enough- right next to the mop that I used last night to wash the floors.
Now, I was calling for hubby to grab the dog- because at this point she wanted to play hide and seek (or kill the cancer patient), and shit was dangling out of her furry ass. I’m now trying to grab her when the hummmmmm of the roomba resurfaces to my cognitive awareness, and I see it’s headed toward one of the piles of love.
I’m now screaming – PC (pre cancer) style for hubby to help grab the dog- when I realize he can’t fucking see the pile of shit either- and I had to abandon walking shit storm and race to the roomba- all whilst military jumping over and around the landmines of crap.
Thankfully, I stopped the roomba from dragging it around the house- shuffled the galloping away from me dog out the house- and was able to clean the shitbris
So, that is how I know, Gd hates me.