I can’t win

I swear some days I can’t win for losing. Nothing goes right and no matter how hard I try I just break everything I touch. It probably comes as no shock to most women that this normally happens close to my cycle. It’s like my body can’t handle the extra hormones so it just funnels together and makes me clumsy and stupid.

Last week Little Darling and I were both really sick with some weird cold/flu bug. Fevers and coughing and snot and stuffy noses. It was awful and ultimately led to a disgusting house, a lack of laundry, and a general sense or disorder. I did five loads of laundry yesterday to catch up, all the sheets and blankets and dirty clothes. It was insane. I still had to wash and switch out a bunch of Little Darlings new winter clothes that were given to us by a friend, so that happened. I had to run the dishwasher twice to catch up on dishes and that didn’t even include last nights dinner dishes. It was a rough, rough week.

Today we had to go grocery shopping to replenish the empty fridge and cabinets and get ourselves back on track with healthy food. Little Darling had a hot mess melt down in the middle of Aldi with screaming and crying and flailing so hard she lost a shoe. Then in Walmart I tried to buy a new pair of skinny jeans and ended up having to buy a size 11- I have NEVER been in double digit pant sizes before- so that led to depression and guilt and promises that I was never eating again and I was a fatty-mcfat-fat, a disgusting cow, ugh. I don’t care that all pant sizes are different, and I don’t care that my size 7 jeans at home fit just fine. I care that I was a size 2 before I had the baby, and while I know I will probably never be a size 2 again, I can’t stand being this big.

I was feeling so guilty when I got home that I decided to make fat flush cabbage soup for dinner. Basically cabbage and tomatoes and a few other veggies in chicken broth. I added some cayenne pepper and lime juice to punch it up a little bit.

Really, in the back of my mind, I knew, that anything with “fat flush” in its name should just be called “toilet flush”. And I don’t really know why it didn’t dawn on me while I was making this soup that I was probably going to regret it quickly. But, nonetheless, I made a huge pot. Wonderful Husband informed me he wouldn’t be eating it and instead asked to go to the bar with some friends. I said fine, I had big plans of working on the remodel tonight anyways.

Within about twenty minutes of eating the soup I was regretting it. I will spare you the gory details and lets just say that I will probably lose some weight from eating this giant pot of soup over the next few days. So that’s a silver lining.

With the fat flushing out of the way, I geared up to paint the newly installed crown moulding in the bathroom. It’s a long story, but we ended up using moulding instead of finishing the corners where the walls meet the ceiling so now the ceiling needed painted to up to the moulding and the moulding needed painted to match the ceiling. I crawled up in the attic and got the paint and a paintbrush and went to work opening the can.

Wonderful husband had already given me the lecture about not getting paint all over the brush and how to clean it properly etc. He is still steamed that last week while I was trying to clear coat the trim for Little Darlings door I ruined a $20 brush. My bad. He was currently downstairs getting ready to head out to meet his friends. I first used a screwdriver and jabbed at the edge of the can. I have painted many rooms and have opened many cans of paint. However, this can would not budge. I got a bigger screw driver and tried again. No luck. I dug through Wonderful Husbands tool box and got what appeared to be a small file and started pushing it under the lip of the can. The file glanced off the edge, skimmed across the top, and lodged in my hand. Legitimately, the file was stuck in the webbing between my thumb and pointer finger. I stared it for several seconds while curse words formed in my head. Too shocked to even make a noise, I slowly pulled the file out of my hand and held it up to look at the damage. Blood started seeping out of the perfect slice across my skin. Shit.

I wandered around the room for a second, sort of dazed and confused and not really sure how to proceed. I finally headed down the steps to the kitchen so I could rinse it off. Halfway down I heard Wonderful Husband in the dining room- What did you do now?

Not wanting to seem stupid, I said I couldn’t get the paint can opened and I accidentally cut myself. He asked what I was using to open the can and I replied that I was using the little file from the tool box.

I washed my hand off and got a paper towel and he followed me back upstairs to open the can for me. While I was in the bathroom getting a band aid I hear him sigh resignedly and say “By -little file- do you mean the wood chipper?” .. I dunno.. isn’t a wood chipper the thing they put bodies in in Fargo? I sure as hell know not to put a can of paint in a wood chipper. Come on.. I’m not that stupid.

I exited the bathroom to see Wonderful Husband holding my small file and I said yea that! He looked at me… “And again.. Dearrr.. This is an expensive tool and you are using to try and open a can of paint! This is a wood chipper, it is made to chip wood. Ya know, like to cut it. See this?? (points to end of file that sliced my hand) This is a blaaaaadddde, it will cut you. And now its all broken from you jamming it in to the paint can”

Well geeez, sue me. I didn’t know it was so fancy and important. Looked like a little file to me. And those are dime a dozen. Maybe he should label his tools. Or maybe I should stop trying to do shit on my own.

He grabbed a screw driver and popped open the can of paint. Gave me one last warning about not messing things up and went on his way to meet his friends.

I got my step stool and proceeded to paint all the crown moulding and the bits of ceiling that needed done and then put the lid back on the can of paint and went to wash out the brush. Needless to say, I got paint all over those bristles. His nonsensical warning about not getting paint past the top inch of brush- HA. What kind of painter can paint like that? Ok, probably most good painters can, but guess what, I’m a house wife, not a painter. So there was paint EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t get it all off and ended up having to text Wonderful Husband for instructions on how to get it clean to the best of my ability.

When I got all done and had the brush properly cleaned and put away, I was gathering up my stuff to head downstairs when I heard a dripping sound. It sounded like it was coming from the new master closet, you know, where we just ran all the brand new plumbing? I panicked. I had to investigate, because GOD FORBID there be a leak in our brand new plumbing and brand new master closet. Never fear! Stepford is here! I will surprise Wonderful Husband by being construction-y (?) and find the leak and fix it and save the day.

I proceeded to walk into the closet and electrocute myself on the newly installed light switch which isn’t screwed into the wall yet. After recovering from the shock of my life- for reals- I crawled all over that closet (with a flashlight of course, I wasn’t about to touch that stupid switch again), Little Darlings room, the kitchen, and even the attic looking for the source of the drip. I finally texted Wonderful Husband that I feared a leak, only to receive a response that it is just the stink pipe dripping down the inside and falling onto the elbow of the pipe. Nothing to be concerned about.

So, if anyone needs me, I will be in hiding until my period is over. It obviously isn’t safe for me to be out among real people while on it. The hormones can’t be trusted.


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