I can't make this up, even with my fevered imagination. This is not an exaggeration.
I just LOVE coming home in a torrential downpour to two people beatin' feet out of our driveway, the one explaining things in a totally rushed manner as they fly into the car, yelling,"I forgot I had to take a friend to work." Right. (This is after tap-dancing on the phone, adding little tidbits of information with each call I'd just as soon not hear.) I'll give Someone this; they didn't want to stick around for the potential bloodbath.
I LOVE coming home to laundry still being done in my washer and dryer; none of it MINE.
Oh, and I just ADORE that stale stink of "cigarette-dirty-B.O.-hair-bleach-people" in my den. Look, I know my den, where wet dogs have lived for years, does NOT smell like lilacs and roses. However, with five days of Dogs'R'Gone, it should have smelled a hell of a lot better. And please don't lie. I know Someone was not only smoking in our basement but also in the den. The nose knows. Only the Spousal Unit is allowed to smoke in the basement.
Oh, and I loved finding a ton of crap here and there that isn't MINE. From a netbook, a plug-in fan still running, magic markers, glitter, nail polish remover, a erasable wall calendar, cat brushes, a box of I-don't-what-crap etc. Etc. The sofa and love seat were very tidy. Credit.
Oh, and a bunch of junk/stuff which has transformed my porch from something "trying to be slightly idyllic" to something close to Hillbilly World? Just precious. "Oh, I am going to bring that stuff inside." Please. Don't.
And the two huge bags of soaking-wet, already thrown-out clothing, bedding, miscellaneous trash that Someone Else had decided needed to be reclaimed sitting in the pouring rain right by our back door? (And trust me, it wasn't worth reclaiming. I checked. It's an old habit.)
Yes, this charming sight sent my Spousal Unit's head spinning like Exorcist Baby.
So the question was: Why and what are these bags of trash for?
"Oh, I thought we could use some of this stuff for dog blankets." (I kid you not. Really.)
My (or anyone else's) dogs really need a busted cheap-o plastic laundry basket, a sleeping bag splattered in (no doubt) white lead paint flakes and a stinky, sweat-stained hoodie that I, even with my somewhat lax standards, would not use to swab out skanky dog kennels full of crap. Among other things so reprehensible, moldy and soaked I dare not even begin to name them between bouts of almost-nausea. (I told you I checked. I did salvage two dog-worthy blankets.)
Yes, and I just LOVE knowing that, for at least one day (if not more), someone else whom I do NOT like nor trust had his carcass parked in my house. Ostentatiously to "Help dust." I kid you not. I can't make this sh*t up. I looked at potentially dusted surfaces. Even though I am a crappy duster; if that's what you calling "dusting" I think I should hire out. Because my dusting is way better than that. (Read: no dusting done.) Nice dodge/excuse as to why Mr. Forbidden-My-Home was here. I'll give Someone credit: they're creative.
I'm utterly enchanted with all the crap in my living room and on my dining room table ----- which was, when I left, pretty crap free!
The dish items in my sink that I've NEVER seen before were....well, we could call that an interesting addition. The dishes in the dishwasher ARE clean, that was running when we arrived. Credit. I believe the dishwasher still works; it's new. Thank God.
And as you can imagine, I'm thrilled to DEATH with the waste-paper baskets filled with cat poop that were never emptied for 5 days. And the one litter box that hadn't been cleaned in 2-3 days. Don't lie, I've been mucking out that box for two years and I know how much poop there is in a day, or two, or three.) Oh, and my cat's bowls having no food or water. Yes, coming home and having to feed my cat and scud out his cat box was JUST what I really wanted to do.
I had made arrangements for the cats to be cared for. Swear to God, I did. But Someone got all pissy that I had done that. "I was going to do that. I told you I was going to do it." Thank heavens I kenneled Elke!! The original plan was that she would stay home and only Artie would go to the kennel.
And why am I left trying to explain utter chaotic jumbles here and there, inside and out, to my dog-tired, sputtering Spousal Unit? I keep on finding stuff and wondering what other little "treasures" will there be?
Such a NICE way to come home after being in a car for 11 hours.