That Old Black Magic

What happens at my house sure ain't white magic. And it sure seems magical, but not in a good way.

I can, and certainly will, give you multiple examples. If I didn't I wouldn't have a blog.

I have scrubbed every inch of kitchen counter. I have emptied and filled a dishwasher, washed all the "can't put in the dishwasher" dishes, fed the fish, checked the grocery list and vacated the kitchen for less than three minutes.

Upon re-entering, both sinks are full of dirty dishes. There are crumbs of unknown origin on all counter surfaces, we are out of everything and the fish looks hungry.

See what I  mean?

Oh, and get this:

I will have washed eleventy billion loads of laundry. Not nary a basket full of anything except maybe a smidgen of lint. Not one dirty sock, not one wet washcloth.

I am once again gone for less than three minutes and two baskets are running over with dirty clothes.

And don't get me started on the garbage. 

That truly is black magic.

Talk Dirty To Me

I believe I've mentioned that when we came home from vacation everything we ever have had, have presently, and ever will have was dirty.

Of course, what follows is an ancient law that comes from the Book of Murphy: "IF thou hast everything thou ownest dirty, thy plumbing will screweth up."

No monkey.

The only thing left clean at my house are some towels, wash cloths, and our bed sheets. We weren't here to use them.

On my third load of laundry the water began to act...funny.

And the first two loads didn't count. They were sheets Daughter took off her bed before we left, sheets the lady that stayed and house/pet sat used, and the second load was beach towels and swim wear. The third load was about half the white stuff that needed washing.

That left the other load of whites, at least two loads of khaki, grey, beige and other non-color things, two or three loads of lights, at least two loads of darks and at least one load of jeans.

Daughter was in the shower when I came in to wash my hands. The water was down to a trickle. I asked, "Why is the water so slow?"

"I don't know," Daughter answered. "But I noticed it."

Did she leap out of the shower, fear in her heart that our well was dry?

HA, I say. She just kept showering. I told her to get her rear end out of the shower RIGHT NOW.

"I'm rinsing off..."

"NOW!"

"Okay, okay. Gee..." Like this was my fault that she couldn't stay in the tub another hour and fifteen minutes.

I screeched down the stairs to Husband.

When the pump to the well has to be checked that is Man Job.  One has to go downhill to the cellar in the creepy dirt floor part with a flashlight and bare light bulb as your only friend. Must I say words like giant spiders and scorpions to make you agree?

He looked at me as though I'd grown an extra head. "It's almost dark. It's raining. Couldn't we just turn the water off for now?"

I looked at him like  he had grown an extra head. "No. We cannot. It is Saturday. I haven't had a shower since Thursday. We have to drink water. Church is early in the morning."

"Okay, Okay.  Gee..." Like this was my fault that he couldn't stay in the recliner for another hour and fifteen minutes.

He came back up with the news that the filter was "pretty dirty", as in filled with mud.

"So, you are going to change the filter? I mean, if you don't we might burn the water pump up." (Read lots of money, here.)

He sighed heavily. "Okay, Okay.  Gee...."

Don't make me say it.

So Husband changed the filter, I gave it fifteen minutes, and the water worked great. Of course it was way too late to wash any more clothes.

Coming soon: Toga style church wear from the latest in sheet fashion.

Bed head hair to match.