The Dog Ate My Homework

Have you ever heard a statement so many times that it eventually left you nauseated? I have. And it has, ultimately, hit a point where it sickens me. Aside from that, I have the urge to scream each and every time I hear it:

"I think it's because I'm so much more ma_cher." (read: mature)

LIAR LIAR LIAR!

I have come to hate that phrase with a passion equalling satan! Wait, satan lives with me. Wait again, it still works! Oh, never mind, I suppose hate is too strong a word. I can't really hate another human being, can I? I'll just go all psychological on your butts and say I hate the behaviour! That's the ticket!

So today I got a phone call from the LRHM while out running errands. For the most part, getting a phone call isn't out of the ordinary; but I strongly object to getting phone calls that start with, "I have bad news ... ". As is natural, I tense: my husband has been in an accident, my son is hurt, the cat died, the dogs ran away, someone in my family has taken ill, or the LRHM will not be going to college. You know, something of that nature. Something SIGNIFICANT, that makes one slightly panic-stricken! But not something so minor as, "The dogs tore one of their beds to pieces."

This is noteworthy for two reasons, the first being as mentioned above. The two of us don't speak. WHY would you phone someone you rarely speak to and begin a conversation with, "I have bad news" when the problem is that the dogs have eaten their bed? I'll tell you why. That way she can do it without having to do it face-to-face.

The second question is, "Why is this such a big deal? Why would she be concerned about telling me this to my face?" I'LL TELL YOU WHY AGAIN. This braindead daughter of Sideshow Bob has broken another house rule: don't leave the dogs running around downstairs if you're not down here to supervise. They're young, they're nuts, and they get in trouble. BUT, they're also crate-trained and will happily spend time in their "bedrooms" if they've got toys and chewwies. But time and time again, Twisted Sister will leave them down here alone while she disappears into her room for gawd-knows-how-long.

There are a couple of interesting facts about this phone call; the first is that she made it at all, and we've addressed it. This avoids the face-to-face confrontation. The second is that she informed me that she was upstairs on the phone with her college for "15 minutes" and during that time, all this damage was done.

I call ... well, you know what I call. Rubbish.

If she was down here with the beasties, they would be in their beds or lying in their crates: normal morning routine; both of our dogs like to lounge in their crates. It would take significantly longer than 15 minutes for them to get wound up to the point where they would completely destroy one of their beds (oh, and it's toast, believe me). Lie #1.

Now before I left this morning, I answered a call for the LRHM. Her phone upstairs wasn't charged. She used mine. So when she called to tell me about the dogs, she said, "I was on the phone in my bedroom ... " Since her phone isn't working and mine is back in my room, either she was NOT on the phone, or she was in my son's room. Either way, Lie #2.

And the final blow to my already reeling brain: "You might want to pick up another one." No offer to replace it. Where was my head??

Little things. Little things that make me absolutely DESPISE the phrase:

"I think it's because I'm so much more ma_cher."