Today is our 18th day living with my parents. It really hasn't been that bad, honestly. I mean, yes, we're pretty much just washing and wearing the same four outfits each and we don't have immediate access to the toys the kids sometimes remember they own and I have to wear a bra every time I go downstairs (HORRORS), but otherwise it's been fine. I think it was a little weird for Dave for a few days what with the fact that we are SHARING A BED in my CHILDHOOD BEDROOM, but he seems to be fine with it now. Last night my dad even took him outside to demonstrate how he catches bugs and feeds them to his pet frogs (YES HE IS STILL DOING THAT) and the other afternoon he walked by me wearing only his underwear, so I think he's pretty comfortable having us in his house, unfortunately for those of us who don't want to see him in his underwear.
The kids don't seem to miss our house at all; aside from the occasional request for a certain toy (requests include one fire truck, one dump truck, one talking Jessie doll), I think they think this is their new house and they are perfectly happy to stay here FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.
I mean, check it:
That's the UPSTAIRS playroom. The basement looks like this:
There are downsides to staying in this kind of place, though. They include:
And:
And I didn't even take any pictures of the potato chips. Thankfully, it could be way worse:
Somewhere in there, amongst the copious amounts of golf paraphernalia, is a treadmill.
The kitchen is coming along. Today our countertops will be installed. Tomorrow the electrician and the plumber are supposed to finish up, and Thursday and Friday will be devoted to sanding and staining the floors. We could very possibly move back in on Saturday and I will be spending the rest of the week ORGANIZING MAH THINGS. Surely those of you who have read this blog even TWICE will know how CRAZY EXCITED I am about this. I get to put things AWAY, exactly where I want them. My heart is beating faster just thinking about it. As soon as we get everything put away and cleaned up, I'll put up some before and after pictures. They will BLOW YOUR MINDS, people.
Ok, now I have to tell you a story and there's no good way to segue to the story so just pretend this is one beautifully crafted, seamless and hilarious blog post.
The other night Dave and I went out to pick up donuts for Saturday morning breakfast. Now, it was about 10pm by the time we made it to the donut shop, but it is a TWENTY-FOUR HOUR donut shop, so imagine my surprise when we walked in to get donuts and found that they were pretty much out of every popular kind of donut. I could understand that, if the place was going to close for the night or something, but TWENTY-FOUR HOUR DONUT SHOPS DO NOT CLOSE. How can you operate a 24-hour donut shop and NOT HAVE ANY GLAZED DONUTS? Part of the business model of a 24-hour donut shop should be ALWAYS HAVE DONUTS AVAILABLE. That's, like, the whole POINT of a 24-hour donut shop, you know?
Anyway, so we walk up to the counter and the clerk is a very unhappy man with a mustache and a gold chain who will not look me in the eye and just grunts at me when I make a request. GRUNTS AT ME. Anyway, so I start picking out donuts, but it is pretty hard to make quick choices about donuts when all the good donuts are gone. It takes me about three minutes to pick out eight donuts and during this time I am not even looking at the donut guy, but according to Dave, who is paying attention to the donut man, the donut man is getting really angry and irritated at me for how long I'm taking to decide on which donuts I would like put into my donut box. But it would take YOU a long time, too, if you were having to pick out donuts you would have never picked in the first place. I was in the process of putting together a whole box of second-tier donuts. (There should be a LAW against operating without chocolate glazed donuts.)
At one point I said something to him about whether he had some more glazed donuts, maybe, in the back? And he's all gruff about it and just grunts “NO” at me and then, without ASKING ME, turns around and dumps a plain CAKE donut in my box, AS IF THAT IS THE SAME THING AS GLAZED. And I was being TOTALLY NICE about it, you guys.
So then finally, I'm all, “ok, I guess I'll take a cinnamon sugared?” (which will be the ninth donut I have selected, I have THREE MORE TO GO to make a dozen) – and you guys, this is the HONEST TRUTH, Dave was a witness – the donut guy looks like he's going to bend down to the lowest rack of donuts where the cinnamon sugared donuts are stashed but instead, he just starts picking up donuts at random and throwing them into the box! BECAUSE I HAVE TRIED HIS PATIENCE ENOUGH, I guess? I am TAKING TOO LONG. He is ANGRY. He is ANNOYED. So he just starts chucking extra donuts in there, more than the box can even hold – he packs 15 donuts in the box, DONUTS I DO NOT WANT AND DID NOT ASK FOR – and then closes the box and tosses it on the counter and tells me, “Seven dollars and twenty-four cents.” You guys, he did not even include the last donut I asked for, which was the cinnamon sugar and he gave me MAPLE GLAZED, WHO EVEN EATS MAPLE GLAZED.
I kind of cannot believe we actually paid for them, but we were stunned and in shock, I guess. I mean, lowest level of customer service EVER. We walked out to the car and almost died laughing because YOU GUYS, the donut man actually got mad at me for taking too long to select donuts. And was completely passive-aggressive about it. And it's not like the line was out the door or even included ANY OTHER PEOPLE. It would have been so different if he'd been apologetic - “Sorry we don't have that donut, ma'am, can I throw a few free ones in there to make up for it?” but instead, he was just a jerk. Not that it wasn't funny, right? But still. He was a jerk.


