Yesterday Rachelle steam-cleaned the carpets, and afterwards wanted to implement a front door policy whereby we wipe our feet with baby wipes before walking into the house. I thought this was a clear case of supra-fussy overdomestication, and began to dance my derision in the manner of a retard kangaroo. Unfortunately, I hopped with a little too much retard and not enough roo, landed wrong on my left foot, and twisted my ankle.
While I lay on the bed with an ice pack to reduce the swelling, I remembered that my mother used to tell me "that's what the fairies do to you" whenever I received some poetically just punishment for sassing her.
Like the time Aunt Surinder was over, and I can't even remember what it was mum told me to do, but as I walked backwards out of the kitchen while tossing off some impudent (and surely witty) series of remarks, my foot planted itself on thin air instead of the top step down to my room. I must have looked very surprised as I cartwheeled ass over tea kettle down the flight of stairs.
Mum and Surinder laughed long cackling laughs like the horrid Baba Yagas they were, and sure enough, "that's what the fairies do to you" floated down to where I lay in a crumpled heap, ass now wedged solidly in tea kettle, cursing fairies and all their ilk.
I thought I was safe from those little buggers, but apparently they're back.
While I lay on the bed with an ice pack to reduce the swelling, I remembered that my mother used to tell me "that's what the fairies do to you" whenever I received some poetically just punishment for sassing her.
Like the time Aunt Surinder was over, and I can't even remember what it was mum told me to do, but as I walked backwards out of the kitchen while tossing off some impudent (and surely witty) series of remarks, my foot planted itself on thin air instead of the top step down to my room. I must have looked very surprised as I cartwheeled ass over tea kettle down the flight of stairs.
Mum and Surinder laughed long cackling laughs like the horrid Baba Yagas they were, and sure enough, "that's what the fairies do to you" floated down to where I lay in a crumpled heap, ass now wedged solidly in tea kettle, cursing fairies and all their ilk.
I thought I was safe from those little buggers, but apparently they're back.
If I didn't know better, I would surely think that the bit about the baby wipes was poetic exaggeration, but unfortunately, I know Chelle all too well.
Maybe you should just suck it up and invest in a nice solid (soil resistant) flooring. You do only have 800+ sqft.
It was partially the fact that we *are* replacing the carpet with laminate, in only a few months, that led to the sense of outrage, which led to the *dance* of outrage, that led to the twisted ankle. Of outrage.