remind me not to ask twitter if i should jump off a cliff
Earlier today, I was cleaning my basement, which is something I like to do when it's finally nice outside, I have a day off work, and it's only the eighth day of summer vacation so ha ha ha ha ha ha, oh (gasping for air), ha ha ha ha ha, it's so very unlikely my kids will destroy the place again within minutes using just the power of their minds, a million tiny board game pieces scattered like confetti around the room even though we never seem to play games (like you even have to ask), and an errant bag of microwave popcorn I kept telling myself was OK for them to eat down there, but I knew better. Oh, yes. I knew better...
Long opening paragraph short, it was sarcastically delightful. I'm a wee bit anal, so the chaos had me feeling out of control. Also, my use of the word 'anal' is a lovely, yet sad coincidence to the story I'm eventually going to tell. Check it - I'd chastised my oldest son about the condition of the basement, using words like "crime scene" and "this must be what Hell's like." As I concluded with "It's like you two come down here and morph into apes, flinging pooh around your cage!" I reached into a small trash can (apparently fitted with an invisible trash blocking lid) to toss the lucky detritus that had found its way in when my fingers melted into something damp. I think we all can agree that when you blindly touch something damp and, oh, did I also mention soft, our mind immediately goes to someplace sinister. Mine definitely did. It also instantly switched into survival mode. Fearing the worst, I looked skyward and begged God, "Please, please, please...don't let this be..." as I pulled my digits from the quicksand of questionable origin. Before I could even finish my prayer, I was punched in the face by the odor. Like Captain Kirk unleashing his frustrations, I gritted my teeth and screamed "POOOOOH!!!!!"
I lost my...well...I think you can fill in the blank there with a word some people use to refer to what I'd just stuck my hand in to best describe what I misplaced. Contrary to this lengthy story-telling buildup, I had no words. I live with three males. I wash enough horrifying underwear every week that I've become numb to the experience. But this? I...don't...even...want...to...know. I tweeted about it, but no one responded, so clearly, they didn't want to know, either (so it's weird I'm writing this, huh?).
After I collected myself and dump (ha! also a perfectly coincidental use of an appropriate for the situation word) the offending bag of crap (which also included things I typically refer to AS crap, such as Happy Meal toys, mega balls, and Bakugan cards), I trudged back down to finish the evil I'd unleashed. Nearing the end of my task, I picked up a plastic bag littering the stairs and noticed it had a bit of heft to it. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson, but no. I stuck my hand straight down that thing like a vet reaching into a birthing cow to pull a calf's legs, and what did I emerge with this time?
An unopened bag of peanut M&Ms! JOY AND HAPPINESS AND BLISS!! Much like the pooh that preceded it, I tweeted my discovery, asking my mysterious friends if they, faced with a discovery like mine, and knowing the candy belonged to a child who'd apparently forgotten about said goodness (my crime scene reenactment placed the M&Ms in my house sometime between March 30 and April 4), would shove the candy down their gullet. Of course, I issued the proper warnings. This time, the responses were mighty. I was advised to eat them and never look back. I was also informed that the statute of limitations was clearly up I (I'm looking at you, solid Dove chocolate Easter rabbit STILL in my house!), and that possession is 9/10ths of the law. Thus, I took it upon myself to declare this "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers Day" and I poured those chocolaty nuggets of peanutty goodness into my belly.
I know you can't imagine how this story could possibly get any better than it already is, but just wait, because it does! Soon after my candy discovery, I unearthed several little plastic bags filled with money that were knotted up and scattered throughout the basement! It wouldn't take a CSI team to uncover the rightful owners of the property I'd discovered, but Twitter once again reminded me of the malfeasance (or, one might say 'the malfeces' if one were me) that had been unleashed upon me today, and encouraged me to pocket all of it and feign ignorance. After some mulling over the Internet's reasons, I decided my kids owed me for today, so for clarification on what I did with those treasures, please turn to Section 23, Article 4 of the "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers Day" rule book to the top of the page titled "You Win Some, You Lose Some," or to Section 58, Article 9 - "Too Bad, So Sad." Additional clarity can also be found in the "Sorry, Charlie!" clause.
That's $8 in quarters there, friends! Eight smackers! Not pictured? The penny I also found, making today's haul almost what my hourly wage at the bookstore is, and trust me, I deal with some pooh there, too, and I ain't all just Winnie the Pooh, my friends (rim shot)! Notice how my control issues rendered me incapable of leaving the candy unopened before taking the photo? Notice also how the quarters are scattered in what almost appears to be an arrow pointing to the M&M bag, as if to encourage me to put the camera down and indulge accordingly? That George Washington in front is all "I cannot tell a lie, so, um, yeah, you better eat these M&Ms and bank me and all my buddies here pronto if you think you're going to get away with this sweet caper, Clyde Barrow." While taking that photo, my oldest son ran inside and heaven help me, I threw a pillow atop my (questionably stolen) loot and actually whistled while staring innocently skyward. Had he come equipped with a polygraph machine, I may have ran through the house screaming "You'll never take me alive, copper!"
The moral of this story is twofold - Twitter has has some very loose and highly questionable morals, and also, if you dig deep enough, even the crappiest day can turn out to be a pretty happy one...unless you're a kid jonesing for some chocolate and discovers (a) his candy is missing and (b) he's suddenly too broke to go buy some, in which case, remind that kid of subcategory 45-B (aka - the "Ain't That A Shame" amendment) in the "Finder's Keepers, Losers Weepers Day" bylaws, which states "Sometimes having one's hand coated in pooh not of one's making means never having to say you're sorry."
Just wash said hand before you dig into that delicious candy.
Labels: turn that brown upside down