I am supposed to be getting together with my girlfriend Cathy tonight. At around 6 pm, two hours after he is supposed to have left his office, my dear spouse calls to inform me he is still there and my plans are screwed. OK. We'll just go out later, I think. I hang up the phone, and the kid starts screaming upstairs, having awakened from a far too short a nap.
So the phone rings again, and it is Cath, and as I am explaining that I need to call her back because kidlet is having a meltdown, it occurs to me that my feet are wet. Huh?
My dear blind, geriatric diabetic dog has just pissed Lakes Erie, Michigan and Superior, not on the floor, but ON my feet. Joy. So Cath is gabbing in my ear, and I am attempting to stretch the phone cord to reach the very few sheets of newspaper left in the house, because stupid me put it all out with the recycling this morning, and trying to sop up piss, and placate kiddo long distance. Cath says she'll call back. She is not staying over at her parents' tonite, so if we are going to get together, it has to be soon.
I run around, leaving pissy footprints across the living room, kitchen and dining room as I hunt newspapaer. I fling it on the deluge, then run up the stairs, wash hands and stick a boob in the kid, while trying to remember to hang my still pissy feet off the bottom of the bed and not foul the sheets. As soon as he drops my boob, I grab him, run downstairs, stuff him in the exersaucer and attempt to deal with the mess, which is right in front of my front door, so I can open it to let Cath in for coffee.
At this point, my big dog decides she needs to get involved and attempts to lay in the piss puddle. So now I am yelling, "What, is there a mop handle up your ass? If not, get outta there!". She rolls in it some more. I drag her out to the dog run. I realize I can't leave a muzzle on her, because we are down to one, and I need it not to smell of mud and dog piss, so I put her in without one.
Then the neighbors' kids decide to play basketball. So the dog starts barking louder than I have ever heard her bark before, on continuous loop. Lovely. No muzzle to muffle her.
I dash back in, turning my kitchen upside down for a trash bag, but my helpful spouse has concocted a treasure hunt for cleaning supplies for me. I can't find bags, mop, bucket or pinesol. I finally trip over the mop and bucket. So I am dashing in and out of the house, with handfuls of dripping pissy paper, when the parade of Friday night home-from-work neighbors begins, all of whom want to socialize, which I can't do well with piss dripping off the paper down my leg. They now must all think I am a rude antisocail jerk, or hate them, because it goes like this:
Them: "Hi, how are you?"
Me: Growl. Hi. Bye.
I grab the lysol with bleach kitchen spray and use it to mop up my floors (knowing spouse will bitch about fading, but then I will bitch about treasure hunts).
Now the kid is screaming, and the doggie perpetrator of piss puddles is under my feet, so I am screaming at the dog. Cath calls. I peer into kidlets diaper, and once again the exersaucer or gravity have had their effect and he is fully smeared with ooey gooey mustardy shit goodness.
Cath is coming over in 5 minutes.
So I scoop him up, run up the stairs, wash hands with alcohol wipes, clean up humongous shitty mess, stuff him into diaper and shorts, alcohol wipe piss off my feet, change into clean clothes, grab kid, run downstairs, look at watch, realize diabetic dog needs food and shooting and a walk. Stick kid in car seat. Throw diabetic dog out of house on leash, yelling "go piss you fucker" (with full complement of friendly neighbors for audience). Run back in, fill dog dish. Run back out, almost throw it at dog, yelling "eat you sonuvabitch." Run back in, fight with stupid fucking over priced over packaged syringes, until finally I can get the fifth one out of the stupid plastic tube packaging, grab insulin, run out door, pull insulin, shoot dog after verifying some food ingested, again, with entire neighborhood watching. Hear big dog barking like machine gun fire. Run in. throw insulin in fridge and syringe in bucket. Run out and around back of house to kennel, yelling "shut up you fucker" and threatening to make dog go live with my mother. Also with audience. Muzzle dog, leash dog, drag dog in. Drag little pissy dog in. Kid is screaming yet again. No poop this time. Start singing to kid (who was laughing at idiot mother thru most of the above).
Phone rings. Cath is not coming.
AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
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