Friday, November 16, 2012
The Return of the Return of Pain in the Ass Man!
Back to Pain in the Ass Man. Recently on a search for coffee, he brought out a plastic bin that had been unpacked but not unloaded. It had the sealed bags of coffee for which he was searching. Community Coffee for those of you not inclined to drink of the coffee arabica, comes from Louisiana and has chicory in it. I don't drink coffee, but Pain in the Ass Man swears by it. Out came the Community Coffee to be put in a special locale of worship by the coffee pot. Hosannas were said repeatedly. There might have been sweet murmurings. ("You're the only coffee for me, baby." "Would I drink that shitty Maxwell House, sugar?" "Who's my little, widdle, middle baggie of coffee-poo?")
But then the plastic bin from which the single bag of Community Coffee had emerged remained in close proximity to the dining room table, i.e., it did not move. (No poltergeists around here.)
Fat Woman did not feel like putting the bin up. Furthermore, Fat Woman's back had suffered through the building of Tree House I and Tree House II and her sciatic nerve was screaming, "Eff YOU! We ain't putting no stinking plastic bin up!" Therefore, the plastic bin sat on the rug next to the dining room table. And sat there. And sat there. For five weeks. FIVE WEEKS! (I started marking the days off on my calender.) No one said anything. No one moved it. It just sat there, growing moss on the top. (Or algae. Or dust bunnies. Something. I certainly wasn't going to move it, much less dust it.)
I started having my morning tea with the bin. The conversations went like this:
Me: "Hey, plastic bin, how's it hanging?"
Bin: "Oh, doing well. A spider came by and cast a web on my left rear quadrant but then Megaroy came by and ate him. Can you do something about the way that cat's poop smells? It singed my lid. You can see where it isn't blue anymore."
Me: "Sorry. The cat's poo stinks. We all have to live with it. So do you."
Bin: "Are you ever going to move me?"
Me: "No, I think I might use you as a foot stool."
Bin: "That Tupperware container on the counter has been winking at me. I think I could hook up if you moved me closer to the counter."
Me: "Ever had the notion that you've completely lost your mind because you're talking to a plastic bin?"
Bin: "No, no, I haven't."
So I finally said to Pain in the Ass Man, "You know that plastic bin in the dining room hasn't moved for five weeks."
HIM said, "I hadn't noticed."
OCD Girl said, "I noticed! Daddy put it there!"
Me said, "Why didn't you put it up after you got out the coffee?"
Pain in the Ass Man said (and this is where the Pain in the Ass persona came out in full fledged, flying colors), "It had kitchen stuff in it."
"Yes," I prompted, "and?"
"Well, I thought you would put the kitchen stuff up and then put it away yourself," Pain in the Ass Man finished sheepishly.
"For five weeks," I said.
"FIVE WEEKS!" OCD Girl screamed helpfully. (Not really, but she was watching with gratuitous abandon.
Pain in the Ass Man mumbled something under his breath.
The next day, the bin was still sitting next to the dining room table. I thought about drawing a face on it and putting a cup of tea in front of it but I didn't think anyone but Megaroy would notice.
So I put it away.
Pain in the Ass Man: 1. Fat Woman: 0.