I knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in the door. Pepperkat was cleaning. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “She’s a good girl. Besides, don’t you give her an allowance that depends on her doing the dishes and taking out the trash?”
Well, yeah. Except for the “depends” part… (We’re making sure she knows that she’ll still have money magically show up in her bank account every month, whether she actually works or not. Just like Daddy.) Anyway, the reason for all this domestic activity had nothing to do with her desire to see a living room cleared of debris or a kitchen without coffee stains. It had everything to do with my wife’s loss of sanity.
You see, my beloved spouse agreed to host a birthday party for Ashley (see previous reference). A birthday party that included 2 teenage boys, 3 teenage girls, 1 loud stereo (though at least it was blasting Ramones, Clash and the soundtrack of Phantom of the Opera), 6 2-liters of Coke, 3 large pepperoni pizzas, 1 chocolate cake with chocolate frosting (which ignited a cake war), 4 frightened cats, 1 frightened pizza delivery guy, several (loud) rounds of Halo 2, and a sleepover (for the girls).
This is the second in a series of “oh my God I’m getting old… get offa my lawn, ya rotten kids!” posts. Next up: complaining about those damned hippies.