Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Halloween or MidSummer's Eve With Hef

While Googling Halloween costumes, this was the only non pornographic one I could find.

Maimy loves Halloween.  So do I.  We relish the scary bits!  Fall is the most beautiful and charming time of year. Plus, what's more fun than not being yourself for a little while?  Superman knows my undying love for this season.  Even though he doesn't genuinely like it himself, he likes us enough to get involved.  This year he procured tickets to a Halloween charity ball.  Maimy doesn't have a problem vamping it up.  I on the other hand, just couldn't.  I had to find away to keep Superman comfortable as thanks for taking Maimy and I.  So we settled on him dressing up in an OLD military uniform and I dressed up as his little lady from the 40's. 

The nuggets loved it.  Daddy looked like he looks nearly everday and they said Mommy was so beautiful.  (This could mean they hadn't noticed in the previous years of our lives together that I am friggin stunning.  I think they realized I usually don't wear that much makeup.  I kind of felt bad for my dowdy self.)

Superman and I knew that in a party town like this we were walking into a wet party.  And even though we had an inkling, I don't think we truly expected to find the lingerie fest that we arrived at.  When did Halloween morph from awesome, gruesome or even cute to a party at the Playboy Mansion?
If you can conjure up a mental image of me in a snow suit like the one from The Christmas Story, you will understand how over dressed I was compared to  nearly every other girl there.  We saw; Little Ho Peep, Poke Me Hontis, angels in their skivvies, lots of devils, a simulated naked man with what appeared to be a potato falling out of the crotch seam of his fake naked body suit (I have to be frank......Maimy found it hilarious.), Jesus with a prostitute, various playboy bunnies/hookers with pimp in tow, and a sailor (sailorette?) that basically only had her midsection (aka boob crease to pelvic bones) covered with her lycra sailor dress..........ah the list goes on.

Maimy convinced Superman and I that since we were the only dry couple there, we should just get on with the fun and act like we were sloshed.  So for the first time in our lives together.............we fast danced!  Yes we did.  Maimy even let the devil whip her with his tail while she shook it like Shakira on the dance floor.
Superman and I had a fantastic time.  We will never forget the woman that danced like a wounded flamingo, or the many crotch shots and leg humps we were so blessed to witness. 

I really do love Halloween.  I really do wish that it wasn't turning into Whoroween.  Seriously, keep in it in the bedroom folks.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Maimy Lacks Compassion

I remember back when I was little.  When I was sick, there was no one I would rather have than my mom.  It could be that I was concentrating more on puking into my hair than I was my mother's attiutde, but I never remember her being gruff.
Maimy lacks compassion and patience when it comes to puke.  I will be sure in the future to make sure the kids know it is Maimy that is screaming,"You are going to throw up whether you want to or not!!  Put your head over the toilet/garbage/bucket/tupperware!!!  DO NOT throw up on my sheets!!".  She isn't very soothing.  If the children happen to remember this in their later years I would hardly want the blame.  I prefer that my voice remain even and sweet, possibly tinged with the sounds of warm honey. 
The nuggets have a deep and dark fear of allowing themselves to puke.  Each one will scream out like they have been stung by an army of wasps, chanting, "I don't wanna throw up! I don't wanna throw up!".  Ah, nonetheless, child, your body doesn't care what your mind thinks. You will puke.  In recent puking activity we have had Piglet puke on the new carpet.  Actually putting your head over a receptacle shows acceptance in their minds.  Farm Boy woke with a shriek and tried to pull his head away as I had him lose it into a diaper pail.  His disdain for vomit caused him to pull away and string the said emmission onto his pj's and sheets.  Paws, for a wee one, had enough strength to pull from Maimy's fierce grip, turn his head away from the garbage and reach for Mama.  Paws, Maimy and I (and our bed!!!) were showered with popcorn and curdled chocolate milk.  Maimy said some choice words and left Superman and I to bathe and cuddle the pale, whimpering lump of baby. 
Maimy didn't show up again for quite sometime..........that is until I found the bedding in the dryer, tangled in a damp reeking knot 5 days later.  Maimy was back and at her best.

Sunday, October 11, 2009


I am closing my personal blog to only those invited.  This blog will remain open and consist of my ramblings about Maimy.........my evil BFF and our mortal struggle to someday part ways.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

My BFF (Meet Maimy)

My BFF (best friend forever) is a bad influence. I hate everything she stands for...........but I can't seem to break ties. We've been together our whole lives and I don't know what I would do without her. Every single thing I do wrong is 100% her fault.

From my first moment of consciousness I can't shake her. She doesn't want us to get up, especially if it is because Paws wants a cup of milk. Uugh, that girl sets me on edge. Of course I have to do all of the work and drag both of us out from under the down comforter and stumble down to the basement to wake up the big guys. 'She' thinks we should just holler from upstairs, but it hasn't ever worked.

I am dedicated to making lunches at least three days a week. School lunch is an atrocious amount of money for an eeeh meal. BFF hates making lunches in the morning. I tried to tell her that it would be easier to start it the night before, but she REALLY likes to put things off.

By the time getting in the sport van to hit the road rolls around..........she actually wants me to leave the babies at home because she doesn't want to strap them in car seats. I can't believe her. BFF is one freaking lazy chick.

I am semi committed to working out a few times a week. I can't take looking like I put on 20 pounds. I will never actually know that for a fact because I don't let BFF weigh herself. That is forbotten at our house. It's about the only rule I can hold her to. She and I strap on our brand new, heavy duty sports bra and hit Tae Bo. BFF HATES Tae Bo and it's all she talks about the WHOLE work out. There have been a few times that she actually talked me out of going. We went back home and cuddled with the baby in bed. I had to enroll her in Tae Bo because the only way she will workout is to have someone yelling at her.

BFF really lacks energy and drive. When we are home during the day with the kids she doesn't want to help put the laundry away, unload the dishwasher........even though Max is willing to help, go to the store (she truly despises putting away the groceries), or mop the floor (she can't get past the fact that she has to sweep first and move all of the chairs........plus I like to hand mop and dry and she says it hurts her knees). Really, can you even stand her? BFF doesn't even like to shower. It's like pulling teeth. Come on........showering is necessary to even feel human. But she says she hates having to get out and put on lotion, six kinds of hair product, makeup and then style her hair. I secretly think she doesn't even like to raise her arms above her head, but I can't get her to admit it.

Eventually it's lunch time. BFF waits all morning for lunch. I try to make her wait until at least 11 am, but there have been a few times that she convinced me that 10:30 was just as good. Even though she is dying to eat, she doesn't really want to fix anything. She would eat Chinese food everyday if I let her. On one hand I can't blame her. I am about 95% sure that the rice noodles she loves are spiked with meth. I don't think an addiction level as high as BFF has could occur from mere food. I have her held off to only eating out once a week. She is still wringing my pockets dry.

BFF could spend the whole day with a book. No matter what pressing matter is at hand she carries one everywhere. Her book fettish is only rivaled by..... nothing, not even the rice noodles. In fact, the more she has to do, the harder it is to get the book out of her hands. The only things I can't get her to read...............are the things she is supposed to read.

I realized that if I were going to feed the kids a) before 8:00 pm b) something besides a pb&j or c) not cold cereal........that I was going to have to plan. BFF is the LEAST organized girl I have ever met. She doesn't want to plan ahead. It makes her out of breath. She actually told me once that she doesn't want to do anything that causes her to sweat, increase her heartbeat beyond resting heart rate, and that makes her uncomfortable physically or emotionally. I have goaded her into crock potting here and there, once with the promise of using a whole stick of butter because she loves butter.

When it's time to start getting ready for bed, BFF really puts up a fuss. The kids need to be showered and she hates it. First she doesn't like their whining. She has an amazingly low tolerance for noise. Superman once gave her a box of earplugs for Christmas. She also doesn't like water on the floor of the bathroom. I tried to tell her it makes it easier to mop when the puddles are that big, but once she has bed in her sights...........she's like a cattle stampede....unstoppable. If the kids make noise, take too long, laugh, run through the house naked, leave towels on the floor, spank each others wet bottoms, spill Victoria's Secret lotion on the carpet, or leave their dirty clothes in the bathroom, she thinks it's okay to tell them to go to bed without a bedtime story. I keep telling her that is a bad punishment.......even the 'experts' say never to take reading time away........but she's a tough cookie to convince.

Paws likes to push my shirt up and lay on my stomach when he's tired. BFF actually will go along with this one because she can do it in a prone position. But once you get her laid out like that, you can't get her back up. If only I could convince Superman to cuddle with Paws sometimes....... She claims she tired, but if the day went the way she likes, I can't figure out what from. I'll tell you who is tired..........ME.

BFF is exhausting. I get so sick of battling her at every turn. Everything is out of her comfort zone. She reminds me of a trickle of water...........just dripping and running around the resistance. I question all of the time what happened to the BFF of everyone else that I know. They seem to have ditched the little hussies..........or maybe they never got that attached. BFF has a demon like personality. I wonder if exorcism could part us?

My New Motto

I do love a clean house......really I do. I just can't seem to get from cluttered to clean. I start off in one area and bounce around distractedly from one room to another. I have ADD in the cleaning area of my brain. I'm pretty sure if I were to have a CT scan it would show a pile of books, papers, laundry baskets and a wee farm full of cows, just like it had been copy and pasted right on to the cleaning part of my brain (that is in the hypothalmus or is it hypocampus?).

I sometimes wonder if I could get a diagnosis and medical coverage. Maybe my health insurance would pay for a maid. I wonder where that would fall in the DSM IV?

Until then.........I say, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life.".

My Ticket To Hell

Superman just saw Lance Armstrong on TV and said.........(paraphrase) 'I could ride a bike all day up hill and love every minute, even the agonizing ones.'

I said....."When the last punch on my ticket to Hell is finally punched I am pretty sure there will be a stationary bike waiting for me.........set on up hill."

How can two people see heaven and hell so differently? I guess it makes sense.....he will be in heaven and I will be in hell and we will be in the same place.

Facebook is Satan's Handtool

I'll outright admit that I am a Facebook addict. I'm not proud.....just like I probably wouldn't be proud to admit I was a meth addict. Nevertheless, the truth. FB has it's good points. It's easy to get updates on your pals........and you don't have to do it by phone (another gimmick used by the horned one to aggravate my life.) Keep up with the chicks from out of the area. Honestly.....a great spy tool. Look up those people you just want to see what's up, but you don't want to SEE.

The downside is that FB smacks of high school, better known as the worst time of ones life, whether you want to admit it or not. You probably weren't at your best in high school. If you think that you were.......I'm really sorry for the life you have lead since then. FB kills off all of the flowers of high school such as math, biology, and English and leaves the weeds; drill team, pep rallies, the hallways, the bathrooms, cone ball, classes taught by coaches, pot between class. You know what I mean.

As with any addiction, copping to the problem is the first step. But until I am only getting out of bed to check FB or cruising the streets with my air card looking for an unprotected connection....I'm still using. Pathetic. Maybe when my teeth start to fall out I'll learn my lesson.

How Surprising!

I really try not to publicize my opinions on this blog. I try to protect myself from conspiracy, weapon removal, person of interest, or a dirty background should I a) adopt or b) run for political office. But this time I can't contain myself.

There I was...........sitting in a hotel room glued to the flat screen. Since our recent T.V. diet, consisting of ......no T.V.......once we were in front of one, we couldn't pull ourselves away. We were watching House Hunters, waiting for Paws to finally plunge sleepward. I love House Hunters, and it was pretty late at night so I didn't have a big selection. Having already had a heavy dose of The Soup, I was sated and just staring ahead. Now commercial wise I know there is some garbage out there when you hit late night viewing. But considering that I was only watching HGTV, not something baseless and nasty like CNN, E, or the Comedy channel, where I know they are corrupt and lacking moral judgement.......I felt safe.
I won't give the name of the heap of dung I saw......free advertising passed out among my staunch million readers.....just wouldn't be right. I'm pondering the age old question whether the family on T.V. should go for the farm house with lots of land and large house that needs updating or the move in ready at the top of their budget. I vote for the move in ready. The melamine kitchen in the farmhouse it going to cost a pretty penny to replace. Time to cut to a commercial. HGTV really knows how to leave you hanging. No wonder I am an addict. The commercial has a couple at dinner. He is ignoring her, texting, not talking, being boring and self centered. I'm thinking that this is a blind date. Then the guy gets up to leave and we find out that the couple is married. The words to the website you are supposed to look at comes up and there is a wedding ring rolling around in the words. Then I think maybe it was a really bad jewelry commercial.....like he should make up to her that he is a dolt, with a nice piece of bling. Superman and I look at each other and wonder what we just saw. So Superman with his many talents, whips out the laptop. Soon he is laughing. I still think it was a really cruddy jewelry commercial. Nope. It was a commercial for adultery. If you are stuck in a marriage and divorce isn't an option, you can still find your soul mate to cheat with. Just tap your keypad, put in your criteria and if you don't have a hot fling to your satisfaction......money back.

There are so many things I could say...........but I will just leave it at that.

Trying To Get Down To The Heart Of The Matter

Even if, even if you don't love me any more. Thanks Don Henley. What I'm really trying to say here is that auditory issues aren't my only problem. You could make a fairly firm case for me falling somewhere on the Autism spectrum. My inability to cope with sick and unnatural things spills over sensory boundaries to tactile peculiarity. Come on now...........I know some of you have the same thing going on down at your house!

Better known as Satan's track suit. This stuff is made purely of hebee gebee's. When I was little I had this shirt that I called my spaghetti shirt. It was royal blue velour and had rainbow colored lines on the stretchy knit material cuffs. If I wore this shirt I was P.O.'ed for the day! I can't bear the feeling of velour rubbing on my hands. I could literally crawl out of my skin. My kids have had baby outfits made of velour..........if I ever dress them in one..........yeah, I have to wrap them in a blanket in order to hold them so that I don't get any direct skin contact.

Okay I can't fathom that could be used for contraception.......what a diabolical creation. Sponges were not meant to be touched by human hands. When I own a robot to do all of my chores I will then buy her sponges. Until then I do not use them. Right now I have to stop blogging to ball my fists so I can't possibly feel sponge.................ugh. Dry sponges are even worse! Whose with me on that one? Let's hear a little cheer. Sponge also covers many forms of synthetic foam material. I can sleep on an egg carton mattress per say, but only if someone can get it onto the bed and covered with a sheet before I touch it.

Packing Foam.......
You know the kind made of a zillion little foam balls pressurized together and molded into a shape..........that stuff makes noise when you touch it. Not only will I not touch it because I do not want to illicit either the squeak or the rubbing sound (grit your teeth, you can get through this...) but I don't appreciate being in the same hearing range of ANYONE touching the foam. These are the times at Christmas when I excuse myself and go to the bathroom and contemplate my true skin age until the packing foam is discarded.

After years of self talk and fits of rage I can now wear socks without going off the deep end. I try not to wear them........but sometimes you just have to man up and put on a pair of socks. When I was little I can remember days when I had to wear socks and I could barley function for the day. They are so restraining I feel like I have to fight someone near me just to get free. The WORST thing you could do with a pair of socks on your feet...........get in bed. Oh OH OH!!! Oh just stop the mental imaging........ggggggrrrrrrr. That is like being in two jails at the same time. The socks are already there and THEN you have covers on your feet. That is like putting a plastic bag over your head......how can you even breath?

Thank goodness for garden gloves and work gloves. Dirt on my hands......oh the dryness and tightness of skin. If I ever find myself in such a situation.........I'm shuddering hold on..........I have to ball my fists up so I can't feel the skin pulling. This might have some bearing on the 12 open bottles of lotion around the house.

Warm air on my face...........
It feels like suffocating. Warm air in my nose, gag, in my mouth yuck. I have to shut the vents in the car so they warm air can't penetrate my orifices. It's like breathing some one's saliva.

Mechanical Pencils........
Okay this is mostly an auditory issue. I like mechanical pencils because they come in such cute designs and they are always sharp BUT.........they make a high pitched noise when you write on some kinds of paper with them. This is a true statement. So in many cases it's better to err on the side of a pen.

First of all if you touch it there is that dust like film that makes your hands dry. Yes that is a problem. Then the sound.......I think that sound is probably played on the airwaves of Hell. The rubbing sound is the one I am talking about, not the high squeak you get now and then.....that's nothing. It's the RUBBING that I can't deal with. I always felt immense peace when my teacher would put that little sleeve on her chalk. Then I knew it wasn't touching her hand. It was the only way I could fathom becoming a teacher.........I knew I didn't have to bare hand chalk.

I know there are other people out there that agree with some of these, or something LIKE these. Don't think I'm the only nut. I'll have to cover my social issues at a later date just to reaffirm that I do fit somewhere on a social spectrum disorder in the DSM.

Verbal Assault

I'm probably really putting myself out here........revealing my kryptonite....but are there ever any words that really rub you the wrong way? We have banned words in our house. I'll only give you a few because I can totally see people using these against me. I beg you not to. They send me into a state of frenzy.
#1 Poo

I can handle POOP but not sans the P. That is just SO stinkin' ugly. I mean seriously I hear adult say this even. How can you consider yourself an adult and say this word? There are so many other possibilities.....crap, defecate, spoor, dookey, shat. Come on world......lets let this one go......no more poo. (Sheesh, I almost can't even type it.)
#2 Moist

This word makes me want to vomit. All I can think of is spit when I hear this word. Spit in the corner of your mouth......spittle flying out of an open mouth, snot, mucus drainage, pus. Please, no matter how good my meat or cake is NEVER tell me it is moist. I don't even care if you say 'Man lady, you make a damp pork chop!' or 'That is one wet pudding cake you got there!' Lets all make a pact now to steer clear of the word moist. Oooh I still see spit stringing from dry chapped lips.....make it stop.
#3 Belch

No joke, that is one step away from puking in your mouth. I'm not even that offended if you let one rip.......just call it something else. Or better yet don't even name it.
I know that I have auditory issues. Really, I am aware. The ugly words are only the tip of the ice berg......I get insane over hearing food. I may actually commit a violent act over the sound of someone chewing ice. I have had to ban the chewing of cereal and popcorn while I am near. I have been known to put a pillow over my head to stave off the sound of taffy in ones mouth. I'm making myself sick right now. Bananas.......you can't help that they are soft and sticky...but they are, and that is exactly how they sound in your mouth. I almost can't eat them myself just because I am tempted to swallow the whole bite just to avoid the chewing sounds coming from my own mouth.

I don't even think behavior therapy can help me.

Kirby Disturbia

Meet Kirby.......he's my new Kirby. If you haven't had the pleasure, something akin to the fruit on the tree of life, of a Kirby demonstration..........let me put out a warning: DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR TO THE WOLF ON THE OTHER SIDE. MAY CAUSE MARITAL DISCORD.

So here's a bit of free marital counseling and some knowledge to tuck into your gray matter until you need it.

My new best friend Fabio (his real name was very similar!!!) knocks on my door in the middle of the freezing winter day. Thinking it was the neighbor, Piglet rushes the door (in a cheerleader outfit) and we throw it open. Side note on how I look: College hoodie, pony, no makeup, no shoes, jeans (expensive ones), baby attached to my torso.........baby's hair looks like the origingal Charlie from Charlie and he Chocolate Factory.

Fabe shoves a spray bottle of cleaner at me and begs me to let him in so he can earn $50 by giving me a demo, whether I buy or not. Then he dashes from the house to get 'The Kirby'. He comes back with his supervisor........ Before I know what is happening the super ditches Fabe out here in the country and takes off, leaving the boy and the vacuum.

I am treated to the luxury of watching Fabe vacuum my brand new carpet with a dust meter and black and white filters. He sucks up a lot of contractor dirt!! Not really surprised.

He pours baking soda into the BRAND NEW carpet and nearly makes himself vomit from the dust (kind of funny, kind of gross). Then he rubs it in so you can't see the white mound that he just poured out (ouch). I vacuum with my $100 Hoover (not the badger kind). Of course I know that I didn't get it all even though it looks like it. The 20 black filters show that sure enough, there was still baking soda in the carpet.

Next Fabe and I travel to 'the sanctuary'. He tells me that my mattress has doubled in weight from skin cells, dust mites and dust mite poop. I cringe. Fabe vacuums. Sure enough, the old dust meeter shows oodles of dead skin and what I can only assume is dust mite and their spoor. He asks if I don't sleep well unless I change my sheets. I say, even if I lived in a lavender field, I still wouldn't get a full nights sleep. Fabe says that's because I can't breath from all of the dust mites. I know it is because I sleep with an infant.

As we vacuum, we commiserate. Fabe can't believe I have been married for 13 years I am the mama of four young uns. He uses flattery..........Satan's flattery. I know I am being duped but I let him tell me I have a great body for a mommy and that I only look 25. I ask him how much Kirby school it took to teach him what to say to suspicious housewives. He says none.

Fabe thinks he's got me hooked. He calls his supervisor to tell him to come back and strike a deal with me. While we wait, he shows me the carpet cleaner, which also turns into a blower, a dog groomer, a paint sprayer, an Electrolux range, a life preserver, a can opener, a floor sander, a snow plow, a pack mule, a hang glider, and a pocket fisherman.

Supervisor shows up and this is were Fabe puts on a slinky dress. Time for Deal or No Deal. I choose from a variety of money cases............oooh I hope I chose the lowest!! Super hands me the cost break down. I nearly excrete yesterday's breakfast in my cute jeans and shout it at the same time. I say there isn't a chance on earth I'll pay close to $3,000 for a vacuum, I'm saving for two perky boobs.

Super says he'll cut me the wife alone deal and give me the carpet/upholstery cleaner for free. For those of you counting that's about $300 bucks. I say..........negative. He says he'll give me a child discount because he can see that I take my job seriously and kids obviously make messes faster than even Superman can clean them up. That's $100 per child. He thinks I only have 2. I ask him the most children he has ever given a discount for. He refuses to answer. I press. He brings up the fact that I belong to a religion that values children. I say that has nothing to do with the number of kids I have............but I do have more than 2. He thinks I am lying for the discount. I say, if I were going to lie, I'd have more than 4 kids, I'd have 13. He still thinks I am lying.

He calls the mysterious man on the phone. The Man says if I pay cash I can have a 5% discount. That's less than $200. I try to tell him my brother-in-law would have sold me one for $1200. He laughs. We go back to Deal or No Deal. Since Fabe and the Super and I all care for each other............3 hours of bonding does that to people, I want Fabe to get his commission but I don't want to pay for the vacuum. I say how about $1800 even, free supplies for a year, free carpet cleaner, and Super covers the tax, plus the 5% pay cash discount. Super looks pained (I think it's a put on). Fabe glitters in his slinky dress. Super puts in a call to The Man, he turns it on speaker phone accidentally (right). The Man doesn't want to cut the deal but Super pushes because I am a wicked bargainer (wink, wink). Super asks Fabe if he is willing to take a commission cut just for me. Fabe bristles and glitters. I think about his 3 year old and the failing economy in Oregon. I want Fabe to get his cash. If he makes the sale fast enough he gets a $50 bonus. We agree. We shake. I tell them not to trust my handshake because I am no gentleman. They laugh. I mean it. I sign my Yankees check and grudgingly hand it over.

Super takes off with the check and leaves Fabe stranded again. Fabe has to familiarize me with my new purchase.

Now that the glittery dress is off and he is back to his missionary look and argyle socks, we can sit on the floor and get to know Kirby. I learn how to do all of the attachments and make sure the belt is secure. I get quizzed. I do well. I invite Fabe to my next girl's night. He accepts. I invite him to live with me. He accepts. Super still hasn't come back for his sales boy.

Super comes back and assures me I got the deal of the day. I take a blood oath not to tell anyone the price I paid for the vacuum. I ask if that is so I won't find out how badly I was taken for. Super laughs.........of course not. I got a great deal, he just can't do that for everybody.

The day has passed without my knowing. I accidentally leave the kids at school. I call Jodi to see if she can save the kids from passing bandits and bring them to me. She does. Having been held captive for the better part of the day I now have the psychological syndrome where I side with my captors. I try to sell a Kirby to Jodi so I'm not the only one that makes an eighteen hundred dollar mistake that day. Jodi knows better. She says no, but she is glad to hear Fabe is coming to the purse party I'm planning.

Later that evening..................Superman sees clues to my Kirby affair; the left over filters Paws stole, the Kirby owners manual, the free Kirby citrus cleaner. "What's all the Kirby stuff for? You didn't buy a Kirby did you?" My guilt spills forth in a hysterical laugh. Superman can't tell if the thought is so ridiculous that I laughed or if the laugh is the chuckle of guilt. The kids rat me out and tell him how much I spent. He becomes very quiet. He stops moving. This is how I can tell he is unhappy. He chats to me like a girlfriend and moves constantly on normal days. But not the day I bought the Kirby. At bed time he shuts the door to our room. He has no romantic interest in me, he wants to discuss Kirby alone. Soon I find out how much it costs me per minute to vacuum, how many bullets he must dodge to pay for Kirby, how many vacuums I could buy instead, the hours he could have been spending at home instead of at job #6, the next vacation to Disneyland just magically turned into a Kirby. I cry with shame. He is so right.

Soon all of the cancellation paperwork is filled out in quadruplicate and my name is signed on all of it. Superman is calling Michigan police to see if these people even have a business license. He comes up with a plan to pull them over and give Kirby back.

Soon Super has returned to our house. No Fabe. It's down and dirty now. Super tells Superman he knows that because of his 6 jobs, he may not want to spend that kind of time and money on Kirby so he will cut him a better deal..............even though I am a great bargainer. We play good cop/bad cop. I am the bad cop, the really bad cop. Super looks pained. He says he doesn't want to cause a divorce. He gets The Man on the phone again and explains that we want to return the vacuum. The Man is not happy, he offers a better deal. I say no. I am not happy about being swindled in the first place. Jason concedes that Kirby is a good vacuum and the new style has a hot shade of orange he knows I will appreciate. I still say no. The Yankee checks come out again. I refuse to sign one. Super gives us a deal but explains that Fabe is SOL and so is he. He can't even take his wife to dinner now. (If he even has one). Superman signs the check. Kirby stays. Super gets in his SUV with my old Hoover and scuttles off to swindle another day.