RANTINGS OF A LUNATIC WIFE

Pink, Princesses and Paint

I know, I should have praised my husband "Peter" (as in Pan) for his painting endeavor in the girls' room. However, his attempt, although initially applauded, turned to annoyance once several "oversights" were brought to light.

The whole thing was a debacle from the beginning. "Diva" burst into tears when she first saw the room. "Mommy, you promised it would be pink and Daddy is painting it white," she cried. The color, called "Barely Pink" looks close to translucent until it dries. It looks like a nice soft pink once it has dried completely ( I cannot do Pepto pink, even for my baby).

Then Daddy and Uncle (hereafter known as "Pan") pulled down the Princess posters tearing the edges. The devastation that caused the four-year-old Diva, was heartbreaking. She was disenchanted with the new room already and they hadn't even moved in yet. "Princess" the 14-month-old WNFL linebacker, was happily sucking on the edges of the torn Disney Princess Posters, proclaiming that Snow White was "good". Babies with four teeth are easily appeased.

The worst though, was the painting over the fixtures. Now, I don't proclaim to be Martha or even Bob Villa, but even I know you don't paint over fixtures. You take it the faceplates off and paint them. So, my initial accolades were dulled by this revelation. When I couldn't turn on the light, because the push button dimmer switch for the light is stuck, I was disillusioned. Once I was able to remove a bit of the paint from around the switch, it worked, but only to a certain degree. The light comes on; but will choose, depending on the wild hair it's currently got lodged somewhere unmentionable, to turn up full blast or set the tone for seduction.

I was informed, the reason for this phenomenon is that I, along with our landlord (who saw no humor in slipshod paint job) lacked patience! Never mind that I shouldn't have to have patience for something as mundane as turning on a light. Can you give me a break, please God.....

Rather than apologize for the sheer lunacy of painting over fixtures, Peter gets defensive. I can teach you how to turn on a light, he says derisively (yes he is still alive...barely). Then he spends time extolling on the virtues of his "stellar" job. Looking around I notice he missed the entire window sill (that's singular folks, as in ONE window). The top half of the closet is Navajo White and the back is "Barely Pink" the remainder is a combination of the two colors because "he hadn't quite gotten to it). The back of the door is splotched in shades of pink, dirt and off-white because that wasn't done yet either. He had three weeks to paint one bedroom.

Another side effect of the poor paint job is our rent went up $50 per month because the landlord, once willing to allow Peter to do the outside painting, has come down from her crack high and has changed her mind. She will have to hire painters for this endeavor.

Anyone interested in a husband or a painter? I have both....Free to a good home.

posted by Lunatic Wife @ 2:42 PM 0 comments

A funny thing happened on the way from the gas station

Hi there, it's me "Lunatic Wife". I dubbed myself thus as I tend to rant and rave about issues involving my husband and family. Usually, it will be something in my household that has prompted me to make comments, ranging from humorous to downright insane. This was my entire plan when I decided to join my friends in creating a blog.

Last week, I read a blog Cymber wrote regarding being accosted by perfume selling bandits while pumping gas. It was one of the most bizarre things I have ever read. I mean, I have been solicited by perfume sellers outside of grocery stores and the like, but a gas station?! I laughed so hard I cried. I mean, it's not as though I believed it could happen to me. Until last night....

My four-year-old daughter, "the Diva" (dressed in her turquoise shorts outfit, lavender cape and two tiaras) and I pulled up to get gas from our usual station. I get out and proceed to do all the prerequisites needed prior to pumping gas (credit card, zip code, remove nozzle, etc) when I hear a scream, "Mama!" I turn around and see a well dressed young woman wedged between my open car door and my alarmed little girl. I'm thinking she probably wants some money (bus fare, food, who knows), but that's not the case.

"Hi, what kind of perfume do you like?" She says by way of a greeting.

Excuse me? What kind of what? I am seriously looking for a camera. This has got to be a joke. "Umm, I've got plenty of perfume, thanks anyway." But the woman refuses to be deterred.

"If I can just spray a scent or two on you...."she continues. I smile, while continuing to pump gas.

"Thanks, but no thanks, I am a severe asthmatic and have to be very careful. The last thing I need is to inhale perfume and gasoline...." She shrugs and looks as though she is seriously contemplating spraying this crap any way. I am again distracted by a scream..."Perfume, cologne, I have all the best fragrances," hawks a well dressed young man in a tie. WTF, is this a cult?

I am just about finished pumping gas and the woman has made no move to disappear. "Mama," the Diva shrieks again, "hurry, I have to pee. I want to go to my own house and use the potty...pleasth."

Mercifully, the woman leaves and shortly thereafter, so do we.

I walk into the house greeting my husband and my 14-month-old WNFL candidate, "Honey, you will not believe what happened at the gas station...."

posted by Lunatic Wife @ 12:37 PM 1 comments