Our new home is the former home of an interior designer. All the fucking lighting is the equivalent of haute couture. Interesting. Impractical. A pain in the ass for everyday living. All of our fixtures require specialty bulbs that cost an arm and a leg which have since rendered our kids quadrapalegics. Hell, I'm not giving my precious limbs up. Mama needs to cook. And, all of our bulbs blow every other friggin' day. It's like a fireworks display in here without the tax-payer dollars to fund it.
As I type this, Mike is standing on our kitchen table, replacing yet another bulb. He's balancing the super-expensive glass fixture in one hand while changing the bulb with another. The kids are seated at the kitchen island watching him -- curiously.
"Dad? What are you doing?"
Seriously, Kaila. You can't tell what he's doing?
"Just a second, Kaila. I'm in the middle of something here."
"Dad? What are you doing?"
I couldn't take the line of questioning any more. I had to interject.
"Kaila, seriously? Don't you know? Dad can't talk while he's screwing."
P.S. G$, If you read this, you should have gone with it at Kevin and Sue's wedding. It would have made the Best-Man speech that much better.
1 comment:
Kaila cracks me up ... her ability to state the obvious, or question the obvious makes me smile.
AND it cracks me up that men (Mike included) can't talk while they're doing much of anything.
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