I've only beaten the dead horse, buried it, and then dug it back up to beat it again,
but you know we loved our summer. HOWEVER,
A couple things have been a bit of a downer. You know, the one blemish to an otherwise awesome time. The perfect nectarine covered with ants.
The pimple right square on your nose. The floating hair in your soup. The not-a-Baby-Ruth in the pool.
And so forth.
See, you're not gonna remember that long, long ago, I mentioned that our house is a tweenage hangout.
It's really not been bad lately, actually. But then we noticed something:
I love my solar lights. Or I should say loved-duh. Those little punksuckers? They took almost every single one of my solar lights and bashed them into pieces.
Yep. One night of "fun" stupidity, and I'm out $50 and about 8 lights. How do I know it was them? I don't, really. Although that night they stuffed one of their shirts in my mailbox so I guess I can put two and two together, right?
So maybe you're thinking, what's the big deal?
I FEEL VIOLATED.
I can't help it; I do. I wanted answers. I wanted to bust some heads. The hubs had to restrain me from asking anyone under the age of 18 who did it and what did they know about it.
I felt like sitting out on the porch with my rocking chair, and if any funny business started, you know I'd be yelling,
"Hey! I have a shotgun and shovel! I doubt anyone would miss you!"
Maybe cock it and shoot into the air for effect. Still think pointless destruction is fun, kids?
So. The other minor headache? The scabby bandaid on the backside of my steak? The skid mark on the otherwise white undies?
You know how we finished up our basement at the beginning of summer.
This TV? It's 64''. And it cost. . . you know, I don't want to talk about how much it cost. The hubs had to full out fight me for it. I didn't want to drop that kind of dough on something like that.
So imagine my surpreese when our tv, less than 90 days old, suddenly stopped working, and I went to investigate, only to find this crack up the center.
Let's just say I got hysterical right then and there.
Let's also say that it happened on the hubs birthday. I called him from work to tell him. In my hysterical crying.
"Hi hon . .. are you busy?"
"What's the matter??"
"The TV. ... it's. ... BROKEN. . . WAAAAAA".
Happy birthday hon, your prized, new tv is broken.
Did I mention my nailgun broke? How about my blender? Why does lots of stuff always break at once? And more importantly,
who wants to go after those kids with me with pitchforks??