DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF
I have learned not to mess with Mrs. C’s stuff, and if I do use something, I know it must be put back in its place. Sometimes I slip up.
The other day Mrs. C was looking for her snow shovel. Generally our walks are cleared by our townhouse association for which we pay a handsome fee. This day they were not yet cleared and we had ordered a pizza to be delivered. Mrs. C wanted to clear the snow from the walk so “We won’t get our ass sued by the delivery guy if he slips.”
The shovel is supposed to be in the hall closet. “The hall closet” you say? Yes, the hall closet. See this shovel is a plastic piece of crap about three feet long with a six inch wide blade. It is the kind of shovel you give to a grandchild. It probably cost $2.98. It is nearly useless for its intended purpose, but it is the perfect size for storing in the hall closet.
The shovel was not where it was supposed to be. Someone had moved it. There are only two people in our house; I was clearly guilty of using the shovel and not returning it to its proper place.
“WHERE IS THE SHOVEL?”
“Maybe in the garage?”
“What good is it in the garage; we have to go through the snow to the garage to get the shovel to remove the snow!”
“What is the big deal, I’ll get it.”
“Why is it in the garage?”
“Cause when I last used it I must have been by the garage. Call me crazy, but I always leave shovels in a garage, not a hall closet.”
“Just don’t touch and use my stuff.”
“Ok, ok I’ll go get your damn shovel.”
“And shovel the walk on your way back!”
“You told me not to use your stuff.”
“Just shovel the damn walk, the delivery dude will be here soon…and oh yeah, you’re a jerk!”
She has some strange ways, but still, I gotta love me some Mrs. Cranky!
"I Used to be Stupid" is available on Amazon KINDLE and Barnes and Noble NOOK.