Lately I've lived my life in a technological bubble, where I can sit on my couch, surf the net, text, call, IM and blog from my fancy phone all while rubbing my hubby's feet. I'm eagerly anticipating the day when I can download the app onto my phone that will rub his feet for me. Saturday I had a true Dorky Girl moment of the kind that I'm fairly well known for in my circle, consider this foreshadowing. I'm seriously tempted to just end this post with a bunch of appropriate emoticons like I might have when I was thirteen.
Occasionally I let my kitchen get so dirty that we are out of clean utensiles and bare counter-space thanks to the mountian of dishes filled with rotting materials. Saturday I reached my breaking point and got my cleaning-on yo, a.k.a.: I just needed a clean bowl to make Artichoke dip for my Step-mom's birthday party and didn't want to think of myself as lazy enough to just wash one dish out of twenty-five so I cleaned the majority of them. I'm more half-assed lazy.
After partialy un-earthing my buried garbage disposal my step-mom called and I took the call while still hovering over the sink. Within a few minutes I lost my shoulder to phone grip on my Blackberry thus allowing it to slide into a crock-pot full of very dirty water. We're talking the kind of dirty water that leaves a stench on your hands and a oily residue on your skin. It was within days of producing a mamilian lifeform out of it's primordial ooze, which concidentially once contained the makings of a peanut-butter chocolate pudding cake. Perhaps this should be researched?
Back to the phone, it sank in mid-call. I made a mad dash to haul it out, and remove the battery before it died a painful death by electrolosis. My super sweet and supportive husband's response?
"Well? What do you expect?!"
Flush a phone on the night of your first kiss and you never hear the end of it... sheesh.
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