So. Welcome to my journal. I’m your hostess, Robyn. Can I get you something to drink? No, I’m sorry. Here at bitchypoo, we only serve Coke and ding dongs.
‘Tis a quiet weekend so far at Robyn ‘n Fred’s house. I try to get all the laundry and errand-running done on Saturday so that I can loll about the house on Sunday. I’m really the laziest person you’ll meet, and can only motivate myself to get important things like laundry, grocery-shopping and other housewifely things accomplished by reminding myself that once they’re done I can lay around and do nothing. I hit Walmart yesterday morning to buy catfood (amazingly, 20 pounds of catfood lasts an entire month for us), and dragged the spud with me. Her hair is slowly growing out after the shoulder-length chopping this summer, and she desperately needed to blow her allowance on stuff for her hair. Which she will promptly lose under her bed and in her toybox, and come beg barrettes and ponytail holders off of me.
So, I just got off the phone with my parents. They’re wanting to come visit in November, and we’re trying to pin down the best time. Fred is quietly freaking out, not because he dislikes my parents, but because he doesn’t care for having anyone other than the three of us in the house for longer than an evening. Let’s just say he’s a touch anti-social. Anyway, the upshot is that my parents want to come stay with us for eleven days, and Fred feels that’s a little long. I don’t feel I can say no to my parents or ask them not to come for so long because I’m a wimpy little non-confrontational baby. I can’t even watch confrontational scenes on TV or in movies without feeling uncomfortable. Finally, Fred said “Jesus God, first they tried six days, then 10, now 11. Tell them yes before they make it be 14.” (When my mom first mentioned their potential visit, she suggested 6 days. Then my dad came up with a 10-day time frame that wasn’t good for us, and now he’s suggesting 11 days). And quick like a bunny I emailed my dad and told him that the 11 days he was offering were fine.
When my parents come to visit, it’s great to see them–for short periods of time. But my dad just fawns over the spud, following her around, listening to her lengthy, incomprehensible tales of nothing, and just making sure she believes the sun rises and sets on her head. Which is not so horrid in and of itself – though annoying to watch – because grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandkids. I understand that, but they go home, and the spud struts around as if she were the Princess of Everything, and generally gets attitudinous. And we have to put the smack down. And I don’t like to put the smack down. Grrrr.
So, tomorrow’s what? Columbus Day (observed)? I guess I’ll celebrate the holiday the traditional sit-on-my-ass-watch-tv-and-reading way. I’m such a patriot.
My gawd, please tell me your parents did not stay ELEVEN days! I can handle company for 3 nights max. Luckily everyone has come to terms with that. (Or they hate me and don’t come, win-win all round 😉
Wow, I remember your first post! I’m pretty sure I caught it after the fact, though. I think I was intrigued your journal name and followed the link from elsewhere. I liked your style and went back and read all your archives. You were one of the few journalers who wasn’t whining and moaning but instead seemed to be actually enjoying your(ordinary but happy)life. Your journal name, however, turned out to be a misnomer. You, darling girl, are about as far from a bitch as can be. Your journal should be called Sweetiepoo! Thanks for writing; looking forward to reading for another six years at least. PS: Love Fred, too! And the Spud. And the (very many) kitties.:)