Housesitting, day five…

I swear, it doesn’t feel like a Thursday. It feels like just another day in the long stretch of time known as “forever”. I suppose that’s why I wanted to go to the grocery store this morning, to just get out of the house for a bit and remind myself that I have a good pair of legs and that the world extends beyond my laptop. Also, we needed water and I wanted to buy lettuce and tomato in order to make a BLT for lunch. I forgot the milk, but it probably wouldn’t have survived the walk back to the house anyway, what with all of the heat and needed detours. Thanks for that by the way, construction people who just decided to work on the busiest intersection during the busiest time of the damn day.

But, yeah. Grocery shopping’s cool. I find that I usually make a beeline for whatever I came to buy, which is probably why it’s kind of annoying to shop with people who do the opposite and wander around the aisles, most likely without the guidance of a grocery list. I mean, sometimes I like to pace about the store with friends, pointing out the ridiculous variety of shampoos and having fun (shut up, it totally is), but not when I’m in a hurry to, say, gather the ingredients needed to make lasagna.

You know, I wouldn’t even know the ingredients needed to make lasagna now that I think about it. Maybe I should try it…

So, that’s the most eventful thing that’s happened so far today. Went to the store, bought some stuff that I wanted with the rest of the advance I got from my boss, walked right back to the house. Oh! And then there were the cleaning ladies that were in the middle of eating lunch by the looks of things. Again, my boss is not the best at giving people a heads-up; I didn’t get so much as a “Oh, by the way, Arlen, cleaning ladies are a thing in this house so don’t freak out, okay?” To my credit, I didn’t freak out. I just kinda awkwardly introduced myself as the person who was minding the house while everyone was away. I don’t think they were convinced, though, as I immediately put away my groceries and went to my computer to play RuneScape. ‘Course, I’ve got nothing to prove to these fine ladies; they didn’t really seem to be doing much either when I got there.

Something else that I want to point out about grocery shopping, just really quick because it’s irritating as fuck when this happens: if you didn’t come along to the store or you didn’t give me the cash to buy it for you, don’t fucking be surprised when there’s nothing for you in my cart, okay? Seriously. Like, I get that I’m now the babysitter; still feeling shanghaied about that, by the way. I’m supposed to be all motherly and shit, or at the very least feel obligated to say things like “C’mon boys, play nice” when the occasion arises and keep everyone from slaughtering each other with Nerf guns. However, I am not a bottomless pit of love and compassion nor are we in any way related. Simply put, I am not your mom, foo. I have no obligation to take special orders or go out of my way to do shit for you. Perfect example: the waffles. Yes, I’m so bringing the rejected waffles into this! Think about it: why exactly did I make waffles yesterday morning? Because I fucking felt like it. That’s the only reason I’ll be going out of my way for my charges. So, little man, why did I not add the overpriced cookies and your sugary soda to my cart? Because I didn’t fucking feel like it. What a shocker! I know it was written on the white board that’s attached to the fridge. It’s already a well documented fact that I can read. But you snubbed my waffles. So there.

All that aside, the kids are adorable and, more importantly, have enough skill to whip up something for themselves. Given their picky natures, this suits me just fine. But if you look inside a fridge full of food and then complain that there’s nothing there, 1) you are absolutely lacking in imagination and 2) you can call your mother to drop some supplies for you or whatever, ’cause homie don’t play that.

I may sound like a vengeful, miserable, petty, wretched prick (and, really, it can be argued that I indeed am all that and more), but I’m chalking it up to differences in upbringing. When I was younger, I was encouraged to come up with ways to use whatever we had in the pantry. That, and I was a little black hole, sucking up all of the microwavable stuff at an unprecedented rate, so the easily cooked things were gone quickly, forcing everyone to actually cook. Yes, it meant using the stove and risking getting burned, using pots and pans that would need to be washed up later but not so late as to make them even more of a chore (I’m looking at you, spaghetti pot, you gunky motherfucker). But we didn’t shy away from using the stove top, we were just really, really careful. And, if all else failed, we put something between two pieces of bread and ate sandwiches. It’s called resourcefulness, a skill that is pretty damned useful and will probably be ground into the heads of whatever offspring are unfortunate to be raised by me (if I were to even want to raise any; let’s just say that the situation does not look good for my genes) along with tact, self-reliance, and silence.

I’m basically gunning to be the overbearing mother that everyone resents until they realize “Hey, I can take care of myself! She actually prepared me for this shit for all of these years!” when they go off to college. That’s my mother in a nutshell, people, and it really did take a semester of college to appreciate all of the nagging and latent fury of her commands to do my chores and stop being so helpless. Love ya, mom.


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Filed under Summer 2012

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