What's the only thing better than Christmas morning when you're five years old?
The day you get new carpet when you're thirty-some-odd years older.
Welcome "Charming Warm Honey" Berber, so long dogshit-stained-used-to-be-white-now-its-black-dirty-smelly-thirty-year-old Frieze! And take that awful under pad with you! Y'know, the one that has been disintegrating since we moved in, creating pounds of dust and particulate that has been clogging up my lungs and making it appear as though I'm not prolific in my maidly duties. And good riddance!
See ya squeaky floors. I know it was the builder's (the dude who wouldn't know square if it walked up and bit his penis off!) oversight that caused you to make it near impossible to sneak up on the hubby to scare the beejeezus out of him (it couldn't possibly be our ever-increasing body mass that makes you groan like a dying animal wrything in pain), but you're just damn irritating. Neenja, the Screw Gun Warrior, is well armed and has plenty of ammo to see to it that you never return. Neenja, *swoon* my hero!
I relish the day that I can return to my sanctuary when my olfactory senses are not grossly offended by the smell of dog ass and unwashed feet. Though I've dreamed about this day for many a moon, it's bittersweet. It's inevitable that Norm will eventually consume something that just does not agree with his digestive system and become a root beer dispenser in the living room. My pristine new carpet will eventually be baptized by my IBS-suffering canine poop machine. And Kitty, I'm sure, is very excited at the prospect of 1000 square foot scratch-pad. Charming Warm Honey will ultimately become Not-So-Charming, Not-So-Honey.
But I can enjoy the newness for at least one day - Carpet Diem!
The day you get new carpet when you're thirty-some-odd years older.
Welcome "Charming Warm Honey" Berber, so long dogshit-stained-used-to-be-white-now-its-black-dirty-smelly-thirty-year-old Frieze! And take that awful under pad with you! Y'know, the one that has been disintegrating since we moved in, creating pounds of dust and particulate that has been clogging up my lungs and making it appear as though I'm not prolific in my maidly duties. And good riddance!
See ya squeaky floors. I know it was the builder's (the dude who wouldn't know square if it walked up and bit his penis off!) oversight that caused you to make it near impossible to sneak up on the hubby to scare the beejeezus out of him (it couldn't possibly be our ever-increasing body mass that makes you groan like a dying animal wrything in pain), but you're just damn irritating. Neenja, the Screw Gun Warrior, is well armed and has plenty of ammo to see to it that you never return. Neenja, *swoon* my hero!
I relish the day that I can return to my sanctuary when my olfactory senses are not grossly offended by the smell of dog ass and unwashed feet. Though I've dreamed about this day for many a moon, it's bittersweet. It's inevitable that Norm will eventually consume something that just does not agree with his digestive system and become a root beer dispenser in the living room. My pristine new carpet will eventually be baptized by my IBS-suffering canine poop machine. And Kitty, I'm sure, is very excited at the prospect of 1000 square foot scratch-pad. Charming Warm Honey will ultimately become Not-So-Charming, Not-So-Honey.
But I can enjoy the newness for at least one day - Carpet Diem!
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