DO WE HAVE Q-TIPS?
“Where are you? By the Exxon station…that would put you on the corner of West Oak and Jennings Place. You need to go three blocks and turn right at Waverly. That will take you right to rt.28…there will be a Kay Jewelry story on the right corner and a tire dealer across the street; Bridgestone I think. Go south on 28 about 7 miles and turn right at the dry cleaners. That will be Lake Avenue. You just go 4 miles and turn left on Rector. The 7-11 you are looking for will be on your left across from the McDonalds and next to the Hallmark store.”
Why is it when I need something in the house I get minimal directions?
“Hey Kare, do we have any Q-tips?”
“OK, which room?”
“The bathroom of course.”
“Ours or the guest bath?”
“OURS!!” (Stated in a way that I now know I probably pass those Q-tips every day.)
I am now forced to find the Q-tips on my own. One more question will bring derisive comments and great shame upon me.
As I search every cabinet in the bathroom which requires moving multiple tubes, brushes and cleansers out of the way, Mrs. Cranky hears every attempt.
Finally, with timing that is better than a Joe Montana to Jerry Rice post route, just before I try the final place where a Q-tip could possibly be stored, she hollers from down stairs,
“Oh for crispy sake, they’re in the medicine cabinet. You couldn’t find a phone in a phone booth if you were spotted three tries!”
"Why couldn’t you just tell me, 'The Q-tips are upstairs in our bathroom in the medicine cabinet' you always give your kids spot on perfect directions?"
“Because,” she tells me with no apparent emotion in her voice, “I just like fucking with you!”
At least she is honest.