Outnumbered Two to One

For the past several weeks, buzzards have been circling our neighborhood in a pretty significant flock. I wondered briefly if this was a sign of the apocalypse. Then today, while I was dropping the kids off at school I drove past one of the lake houses and discovered at least thirty of them roosting on the barrel tiled roof. This made me think that perhaps the end wasn’t approaching after all, instead it seems that one of my neighbors is possibly storing bodies in their attic.

Sometimes the stack of dirty dishes in my sink actually smell like something dead. If you see the vultures circling my house, it’s not because I’ve murdered someone with a claw hammer, it’s the nasty dishes.

If the apocalypse were indeed approaching, I would totally give up on the dishes.

Today after getting a particularly unnerving phone call, I opened a can of whup-ass on my husband’s punching bag. Normally the bag doesn’t see a lot of action. I’m pretty sure it was caught off guard when I pummeled it with my fists of fury, except for the fact that I totally hit like a girl. I think I heard the bag snicker as I walked away.

The weather girl keeps saying it will be in the 30s on Thursday. It’s hard to fully absorb the impact of her words when all I can focus on is her stick-like legs. I want to force feed her a cheeseburger then ask her to stop wearing such shiny blouses on screen, as they give me vertigo and keep me from properly focusing on the weather reports.

If it’s going to get cold, I’m going to need clean pants, which means I’m going to have to do laundry along with the festering dishes in the sink. The thought of housework makes me secretly long for a temporary apocalyptic recess. I could hunker down for a couple of days, eating beans out of a can, and reading to my kids by flashlight. I’d get to the housework once the apocalypse was revoked.

Where are the zombies when you need them? Oh that’s right, Austin.

See Keely the Un Mom for more Tuesday randomness.

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