On Saturday morning I noticed Chuck dragging his butt along the concrete on the sidewalk. This means he needs to have his anal glands squeezed again, by someone other than me or anyone related to me, so that he doesn’t accidentally burn a hole in the couch or God forbid my leg. Jon doesn’t even know this yet, that I need to make an appointment to have someone’s gloved thumbs and forefingers release the pressure of Chuck’s impacted butt fluid because Jon is too busy taking care of everything else that is falling apart around our ears, my mental stability included.
Jon describes our descent into technological purgatory here. A brief review:
1) Expensive camera stops taking pictures even though it has been treated lovingly like a child, written into our will and promised at least half of my Avon inheritance, more than Leta’s share because I never have to use the bathroom with the camera sitting in my lap.
2) CD player in truck stops recognizing CDs and instead flashes digital readout of: ERR, ERR, ERR. To err is human, to ERR, ERR, ERR is a fucking piece of shit and it won’t give me back my Coldplay CD.
3) Dryer in basement starts making noises similar to hurricane force winds, scares Leta three feet off the floor where she lands clutching the wall, legs and arms splayed like a frog being dissected. Dryer finally gives up, rolls over and dies. Jon tells me that the shorts in his drawer are still wet. I say, walk really fast and they won’t be.
4) Water faucet in front yard won’t turn off. Also, two sprinkler heads are missing. Notice Leta’s cheeks bulging like she’s gathering nuts for winter. Jon fixes faucet while I dig sprinkler heads out of Leta’s throat. Neighbors can’t stand screaming any longer and ask us to give her back the sprinkler heads.
5) 200 gig harddrive on the new computer in the basement sets itself on fire destroying EVERY SINGLE PHOTO WE HAVE EVER TAKEN in the process. Jon sprouts laser beam eyes and blows up cars as they pass the house. He spends almost 12 hours and over $80 on software to put out the flames.
On Saturday afternoon we leave my iBook hooked up to the broken harddrive while we run to pick up a few parts to fix the sprinkler heads. Jon wanders aimlessly around the aisles of the hardware store blowing things up with the red beams from his eyes. I ask him why he just doesn’t pick up a couple sprinkler heads already? Can’t he see I’m holding Leta by the ankles because she wants to get down and hoard bolts for winter?
He says, a whole sprinkler head costs $2 and he only needs a small part of the sprinkler head, not the whole thing.
I say, but it’s only $2.
He says, but that’s such a waste.
I say, do you want me to throw things? Because right now my hands are full, with YOUR DAUGHTER, and people might stare as she goes hurtling towards your head.
Jon forgot to mention the broken CD player in his post, and he only mentions in passing the fact that he changed four indescribable diapers in the midst of fixing the faucet, sprinkler heads, harddrive, and dryer. Four poopy diapers on the one day her father is in charge of diaper duty. I may just keep that kid.