There are things you don’t know about me.
Even if you follow me on Facebook, where I seemingly blurt
out every random thought that appears in my frizzy little head…yes, there are
things you don’t know. And shockingly, things I don’t say.
Proof Point #1: The Boy and I were
talking about possibly doing something kind of stupid that possibly involves large
predatory wildlife the other night and he mentioned that if we DID it, I couldn’t
post it to Facebook. I looked at him in all seriousness and said “If I can’t
post it to Facebook, why would we even do
it?”
Proof Point #2: Last
week we were watching “Orange is the New Black” and there was a scene where two
lovely women were making out in a pretty sexy way and I casually asked him if I
ever went to jail if he’d mind if I cheated on him with a woman out of sheer
loneliness. His eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning and he (kinda)
shouted “You don’t have to wait for
prison!” I totally wanted to make that my Facebook status, but I wasn’t
sure my parents would see the humor and it’s possible I’ve horrified them
enough already. Also? From his response, I think The Boy thinks a stint in
prison is something imminent in my future. (Note: Whatever it is or whenever it happens, clearly I WAS FRAMED.)
So yes, there are things I do and things I say that you know
nothing about and would likely be either outrageously entertained by or maybe
mortified. Either way, I’m holding out on
you. Or at least I was, prior to the two Proof Points above. Now maybe you actually do know everything I think.
Whatever the case, there are also things I DON’T
do that I keep from you, and one of these is this tasty little nugget: Despite
the fact that both cats in our household are Ogg children (and one of them is a
decidedly barfy lil guy), I refuse to clean up cat vomit.
There, it’s out. I REFUSE TO CLEAN UP CAT VOMIT. And I’m really, really good at it-- and clearly not ashamed to admit it.
I think at first The Boy thought he could just wait me out, thought
that surely after a few hours or a day or so I’d give in and just clean it up.
But NO. I can studiously avoid cat vomit for WEEKS
if I have to. That shit can be close to disintegration and I still do not “see”
it there on the carpet. Seriously, it’s a gift. Or maybe an art. Or maybe
something totally new: A gart.
Which leads me to one of the reasons that I love The Boy so
much: He cleans it up. And usually he does so without fanfare or any
expectation that I’ll fawn all over him for it (because, eeeewww gross, he just interacted with cat vomit). As I type this, he
has just completed shampooing about a dozen different vomit spots in our living
room and bedroom and is actually whistling
as he lugs the giant shampooer thingie (that I don’t even know how to operate and am unable to actually lift)
down the stairs to start on the basement spots.
Seriously you guys, he’s a keeper.
And clearly so am I. Just to prove it, here's an artfully composed kitteh photo for your viewing pleasure.
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| Kip: The barfy lil guy. What I lack in cat vomit-cleaning skills, I MORE than make up for in cat costuming skills! |
