SNIPS OF SNAILS AND PUPPY DOG TAILS

Men, boys, or anyone of the male persuasion, please stop reading right now.

No, I mean it. Stop. You are going to get your tender feelings hurt if you keep reading.

Okay - but I warned you.

Get your hankies out then, dudes.

WHEN A WOMAN CLEANS THE KITCHEN AFTER DINNER:

- She unloads the dishwasher and takes care of the clean dishes.

- She scrapes, rinses, and places all plates, glasses, silverware in an orderly fashion that will ensure a thoroughly complete washing by the machine.

- She runs the garbage disposal to ensure no back-up when the machine runs.

- She fills the machine with detergent, sets it on the proper cycle for the load, and begins it.

- She washes by hand as necessary any large pots, pans and lids that cannot fit in the washing machine.

- She dries and puts away the aforementioned pots, pans and lids.

- She wipes down the stove, the counters, the kitchen island.

- She sweeps the floor, and wipes up any spills.

- She empties the trash, and takes it out to the container in the garage or on the street..


WHEN A MAN CLEANS THE KITCHEN AFTER DINNER:

- He sticks as many dishes as will fit, regardless of what is already in the dishwasher or if they are possible already washed, higgly-piggedly on top of each other.

- He leaves any large pots, pans and lids that do not fit on the counter or the stove.



- He doesn't even think about running the garbage disposal, checking the dishwasher settings, or taking out the overflowing trash.



- And if having a really good day, begins the dishwasher.



What prompted this sexist post?

It wasn't even washing the dishes.

My husband, bless his sweet little heart, browned the hamburger for our sloppy joes while I was driving home from the doctor's appointment yesterday.

And when I, the female in the house, did the dishes that night, I didn't understand why the skillet was so incredibly encrusted and difficult to clean.

Then I realized something.

He had obviously browned the hamburger and stirred it... maybe twice in the entire process. Burning the pan.

Why are men so difficult... nay, impossible to house-train?

MIDNIGHT MADNESS

The other night I had a soda explode in my face.

Ungainly is a polite expression, but an honest description of me would include gawky, clumsy... well, I tend to drop things.

Easily.

And frequently.

So it wasn't entirely shocking that the can slipped easily from my grip.

But, like the true solider I am (see title of previous post), I immediately threw myself on top of the grenade (sidebar: did you know the word 'grenade' is derived from the French word for 'pomegranate'?) in order to absorb the detonation.

Well, actually, I picked up the foaming, spitting and hissing can, resulting in sticky, sweet fizzy soda flowing all over my hands, my arms, my legs AND getting into my hair (I'm getting it cut Wednesday, but it is actually pretty long ... for me, at least)...

... and proceeded to get more over the refrigerator, the kitchen island, and most of the cabinets until I got it into the sink.

And THEN the thought came to me of the brilliant concept of COVERING the can with any one of five readily available dish towels and thus stopping the insane leakage.

It was with a certain kind of surreal quality to be cleaning the kitchen floor at 1:15 a.m.

Now - what did YOU get to do last night?