Honey didn't..

So, last weekend I had the pleasure of attending a Honey-do for some old friends who are FINALLY getting married. (I'm not sure if this is exclusively a Southern-redneck thing, but for those of you who don't know what this is, let me elaborate: A honey-do is for those who wish to trade the stuffy, frilly, silly wedding shower with all the china and cloth napkins for a good old fashioned guy/girl party..usually held outside, no honey-do is complete with out a bonfire and large quantities of alcohol..mostly BYOB alcohol, which requires crowds carrying ice chests and lawn chairs.. Rather than fancy china and crystal vases - the honey-do invites gifts of a different sort..Any item that might assist your spouse-to-be (honey) with household, and or, outside chores that you might ask them to do (do) is acceptable. I brought towels..which might be used for any number of chores..and will surely be laundered. Then my old friend Jim and I became reacquainted..

Have you met Jim? He's the best. He makes me feel so alive,..and young,..and beautiful,..

so free. I don't let him come around much anymore - I'm afraid he's going to make me look stupid in front of my kids..but when Mama gets a night alone, we make up for lost time. Coke gets to come along too..but to be honest, I give Jim most of my attention.

Anywho, this was one of those sacred occasions. Events like this are the stuff of movies, and thirty-something. Now, there are different approaches to said occasion: There are those who have shown up with the intentions of showing everyone how far they've come in life and how responsible they are and exactly how 'grown up' they have become. Then there are those that have come to forget exactly how grown up they have become, who delight in checking that heavy coat of responsibility at the door. They don't want to talk about how far they've come in life..they don't want to discuss potty training or weddings, or heaven forbid work! eck! What we do want to talk about is that time when you did that thing and so-and-so laughed and then what's-her-name smacked him and then he jumped out the window and landed on that cop car and then we had to run half-naked through the woods and then...yeah, we're all about discussing that.

And getting a little googly eyed..

We also want to laugh at the irony of things..we want to soak up old friends and quirks we have missed. Like wearing weird gypsy scarves and needing to put one's head inappropriately close to other people's heads..









We want to pretend we really are at a luau..we wear our flowers and stupid hats with pride dammit!

Because we know that all this crap about 'honey' doing jack squat because 'honey' was asked is a load of shit! We know that a week later we're going to be drowning in a tidal wave of laundry..we're going to wonder how we missed the giant crowds of people simultaneously stripping off their clothes and leaving them for us in miscellaneous foul smelling piles all over the house - as if it's been discussed and decided that yes, indeed, you are the person..the laundry person..from now on, from her to eternity. We know that gasping for air and struggling to get to the turkey meatloaf before it burns we will ask that doomed question: "Honey, would you put up this little bit of laundry..it's already folded, I just need it to be off the dryer to make room for the 50 loads I have to do tonight" (hint,..cough,..hint. hint.) We know we'll be a fool for even asking, but most especially foolish for expecting a result from the asking. We know that 2 hours and 4 meals and 3 baths and 2 clean mouth fulls of teeth and 1 late bedtime later we'll be racing through the room looking for the most valuable edition of "What was I scared of?" and dropping off a couple pair of clean underwear in 'honey's drawer and we'll run into that little pile of laundry on the dresser. We'll look at 'honey' with incredulous furious eyes and 'honey' will innocently say "those were yours babe" and then honey will realize you should have come with a stamp on your back that says 'do not expose to heat' 'will explode under pressure' or something like that. The honey that didn't will wish that he did...but it will be too late.

So now you know why my kind like to party like it's 1999. (or earlier) We know our time is limited. We know it could end so fast, and we know there's no point in pretending to be a far cry from your original self. We also know that honey probably won't, but we're too polite to tell the happy couple, so we kick it with Jim and show Coke a little love now and then.. we lean on good friends and think about different days..

UPDATE: Mr. Mustang and I have been engaged in a housework stand-off. Unfortunately I am the weaker of the two when it comes to grit under my bare feet...I could not stop picturing it transferring from my feet to my sheets, into my shoes...and embedding itself in my rugs. I could not stop analyzing the grit..it's origins..best case scenario? dirt..worst case scenario? dog feces mixed with cat vomit. Our cats stay outside, but all grit comes from outside and here you see my train of thought. I'm saying all that to say this: Little one and I had a vacuum/sweep/mop party today while Mr. Mustang was at work. I feel both defeated and extremely happy about this. I also did 6 loads of laundry. I did every bit of laundry that he might not need. NONE of his.. The clothes of his that were already clean have been thrown (rather violently) into a laundry basket and positioned at the corner of the bed where Mr. Mustang might trip on them...I'm seriously thinking of hiding towels for me and the kids. Oh, and I didn't cook. When I left he had put out some freezer burnt sausage to thaw on the counter..ahahahahaha! This is his attempt to be just as passive aggressive as I. Well, I say find your own tactic asshat! Mama's eating at taco bell and not bringing shit home for the family. That's right, not one crumb.

(*note to Internet: I am not an awful, petty, dramatic wife. I have tried repeatedly to speak calmly with Mr. Mustang about getting a little help around the house. Obviously that didn't work. Mrs. Mustang is taking a stand.! (just not with the floors - for reasons mentioned above)

*UPDATE: Mr. Mustang has found his cleaning mojo, we're back to a civil arrangement and have even consumated the deal ;) This might just lead to more male cleaning..which might lead to more consumation..which might lead to more male cleaning..which might lead to even more consumation and so on and so forth..