Not that I need an excuse.
She’s taking a perverse pleasure in ridding me of one of my most guiltless pleasures. Why should I feel bad about being a helpful customer? What could be wrong with making someone’s life easier and being extra tidy? What kind of monster would rob me of the pleasure of stacking plates, I mean, “crockery”?
She likes to call me on my bullshit, which is why I adore her. It is impossible to fly anything by her. But I’ll admit, when I saw that little bloodsucker on her forehead this morning, I seized the moment. I smacked her with the palm of my hand. Hard.
Tabby: What the hell!
Me: It was a mosquito! See! I got’im,” and showed her the remains on my palm.
Tabby: I don’t care! You don’t just smack someone on the head!
Me: Geez. You Brits are so tetchy.
I went to my favorite Czech greasy spoon for breakfast this morning and I couldn’t restrain myself. I had to stack.
But Tabby’s admonitions were echoing through my head so I decided to check it out.
Me: I hope you don’t mind but I just love to stack dishes.
Waitress: No problem, hun, it’s very helpful.
Me: I have a British friend who says that it is rude, makes you think you aren’t working fast enough and it gets you in trouble with your manager.
Waitress: Well you tell your friend that IN AMERICA we do it differently. I appreciate your help and clearly your British friend has no idea what she’s talking about.
She actually didn’t say that. She just said, “Hm. Nope. Not a problem.”
Time to cut the crap.
More shit from my garage.
Motor oil. We’re going to give it Uncle Al because he actually works on his car.
Cross Country Ski boots from the turn of the century.
Keyboard tray that mounts under a desk. FREECYCLE.
Grout, sanded and unsanded. FREECYCLE.
A couple dumb books and an “art” project. TRASH.
I went through the boys’ backpacks for the first time since school got out (don’t judge). I just couldn’t face it. This is what is getting RECYCLED.