So, I spent a lot of hours today at my mother’s soon to be former place of residence packing and clearing. The sheer amount of crap that she had in her dresser alone took me almost 2 hours to go through. She said “… just throw it all in a box and we’ll sort it out later.” Uh, NO! I am thinking not so much since that’s what it seems like has been done when they unearthed her from her apartment of 35 years (I’m so not making that up, either!). Cripes, y’all. What have I gotten myself into? (sobs into her blankey)
Here are four of the 893 reasons I resolve NOT to be a packrat:
- I don’t want anyone wasting brain cells wondering why I am keeping hair clips from 1953.
- I don’t want anyone reading my personal diaries and whatnot. (Charlie has strict instructions to remove them immediately upon notification of my passing so as not to bore anyone to death themselves or scare people who generally like me. Hope he remembers his sacred duty.)
- I don’t want anyone to have to contemplate taking speed when faced with packing up all my shit.
- I don’t have any kids to force this duty upon so I will either have to pay for it or just flat out die and not worry about it.
And speaking of kids:
I’m not sure if the above pic was somehow photoshopped but I think it shows what tender care she was taking of herself while she was carrying the wee P-Fed. Damn, if I had to sleep with Cletus Federhead, I’d be smoking and doing all kinds of crap just to distract myself from the sheer hideousness of it all.
Here’s some faboo BritBrit snark I found on ye old “internets”:
“I agree that Preston sounds a bit upper crust for the cheetos chicklet. Maybe she said Piston & it got misunderstood.” (snicker snicker)
– and –
“Considering the intelligence of the parents, Asparagus Spears Federline had to be born by c-section, since he’d never be able to find his way out otherwise….”
(tee hee hee)
Payback for laughing at B-Fed and baby? Having to clear out the closet in the back bedroom at Mom’s. Anyone got a bulldozer they ain’t using?