Is there a nice way to say to someone "please, please, please stop shuffling around the house like a 98 year old woman in house slippers?" The noise is making me crazy, the constant shuffle, shuffle, swish, swish, rub, rub of slippers of some sort on the wood floor. The sound carries all through the house like whispers from a witch and I have visions of setting fire to all footwear in the house except mine. And there is certainly a huge pile of footwear in the small hallway by the garage door, at least a dozen pair of shoes and flip-flops and boots and those infernal slippers. Oh please, pick up your frigging feet! Step, step, step. My mom with her 95 year old tired and hurting legs shuffles less than what I hear all day in my house.
And no, it isn't little Cooper shuffling.
And could we stop with the boiling of the cabbage? The smell gets on my bath towel and in my hair and it's like a fog that creeps under the door, greenish and smelly and pervasive. I don't actually think it's just cabbage, it's something else that smells like cabbage combined with skunk weed and fetid socks or rancid small dead birds with woolen feathers because it has that boiled wet gym-sock-wet-wool-cabbage smell. Gag-orama.
Bleah. That's all I can say. Bleah. Wretch. Bleah.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment