The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: satire (page 1 of 2)

Nine things I will never say at home

My husband and I have been watching a lot of TV at night lately. I mean A LOT… like entire-seasons-of-things-in-three-days-a-lot.

The good news is that there is some great stuff on TV these days: Downton Abbey, The Walking DeadOrange is the New Black, Call the Midwife

The bad news is OMG, I HAVE WATCHED HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS OF TV THIS SUMMER.

Maybe it’s time for some TV detox.

At least until the new season of The Walking Dead.

But until then, all this couch-time reminded me of a list I wrote last year. It might be new to you, and it will give me a chance to make my family room look and smell less like one of those Febreze commercials.

 Nine things I will never say at home:

#9   “Here Honey, you hold the remote.”

#8   “Could you please turn down the TV? I want to be able to hear the kids… and you, eating those grapes.”

#7   “You know what would take my mind off these cramps? A big black dog all up in my biznatch.”

#6   “NOOOOOO! For the love of all that is Holy, catch the fucking BALL!”

#5   “Wait—let ME answer the phone! It’s probably your Mom and I’ve been dying to hear all about her new chair. It swivels, you know!”

#4   “Mmmm, these throw pillows smell awesome.”

#3   “Nah, who needs a Ryan Gosling movie? Let’s go upstairs and keep the lights on.”

#2   “Microwave S’Mores? Gross! I’d rather have one ounce of unsalted raw organic fair trade almonds, thanks.”

#1    “I can’t see the TV; my boobs are in the way.”


 

The one in which I pledge never to do THAT again

I’m In The Powder Room today discussing what happens when impulse control issues, fluorescent lighting, and smooth talking septuagenarian hairstylists collide.

Read Me In the Powder Room!You’ll have to read it to believe it.

See you over there? I’m the one with a bag on my head.

-Leslie

How to Choose the Perfect Conference Roommate

Aiming Low Non-Conference

I’m on my way to the Aiming Low Non-Conference to chill with some of the funniest bloggers on the planet. I’m pretty excited about it too. Something tells me this crowd is going to be much more receptive to and appreciative of my unique and unconventional greeting style.

Yep. I’ve already packed my Depends and my vintage disco pantsuit, and I’ll be on my way shortly.

Fortunately for me, I have the privilege of rooming with my Internet wife, The Suniverse. We roomed together for the first time at BlogHer ’12 last August and we turned out to be like peanut butter and jelly. Frankly, she was the single best part of that conference experience for me. Without having her to giggle with until the wee hours every morning, I’m not so sure I would have survived my first mega conference. Particularly after that one elevator ride from hell.

But I haven’t always been so lucky.

Continue reading

Does your child’s teacher not like you?

If you’re me, the answer is most assuredly “yes.”

I’ve managed to clock a new world record in making my child’s teacher loathe me faster than ever before.

And I think I may have finally figured out why.*

 

 

*Y’all, for the love of God, that is not a real text. I used my iPhone and my husband’s iPhone to make that shit up. You can breathe now. 

 

What drives a woman to kill her husband with a coffee mug?

I don’t watch a lot of news these days.

It’s a conscious choice. My soft little brain simply just cannot tolerate all the negativity and fear mongering. It brings me down. Big time.

So I go about my business most days, pretty oblivious about breaking news stories. It’s usually not until someone asks me point blank “Are you going to boycott Chick-Fil-A?” or “Can you believe that douche canoe said women can’t get pregnant if they are ‘legitimately’ raped?”

And then I usually go scrambling for the Google so I can at least marginally participate in all the pithy banter going on around me in cyberspace and the carpool line.

But as fate would have it, I was passing through the family room this morning while The Gatekeeper was watching the news and I couldn’t help but hear the tail-end of a story about a 70-year-old high-ranking umpire on the U.S. professional tennis circuit who allegedly bludgeoned her 82-year-old husband to death…with a coffee mug.

True story. Couldn’t make it up if I tried. Lois Goodman was arrested yesterday and charged with murder. She was in New York at the time to officiate the U.S. Open tennis matches.

There I was, eyes and ears riveted to the TV, standing behind the love seat, right next to my husband’s big bald head…and holding a coffee mug.

It was my second cup of French Roast and it was damn good.

He sensed me standing there behind him, holding that coffee mug, and looked over his shoulder at me like “Don’t even think it.”

But of course, I had already thought it! How could I not? I was holding a coffee mug.

It was like his big bald head had a red target on it.

Luckily for him, my cup was full and I have my priorities.

So instead, I just snickered and said a quick prayer that Lois gets a judge and jury of women who have been married for 50 years.

I mean really.

Girlfriend used A COFFEE MUG…

…to bludgeon her octogenarian husband…TO DEATH.

I’m just trying to imagine what led up to that ultimate moment when she snapped and decided that repeatedly bashing his liver-spotted melon with a coffee mug was the best course of action.

Some possible scenarios:

Him: “Hon, we’re out of Splenda again.”
Her: “OH SUCK IT, Alan. If you want Splenda, put it on the God damn grocery list. I’m not a fucking mind reader! No, you know what? Fuck that fucking shit. I’ve got your Splenda right here, Bub.” {WHACK WHACK WHACK.}

or perhaps…

Him: “Wait, Lois, where are you going? You have another match today? I thought you were going to take me to get a hair cut at the Walmart.”
Her: “Hair cut? Jesus Christ, Alan. Didn’t we just get your hair cut two weeks ago? Ugh, I am so sick of being your damn taxi driver. You want a hair cut? YOU WANT A HAIR CUT?! I’ve got your hair cut right here, Bub!”  {WHACK WHACK WHACK.}

or maybe…

Him: “Lois, what’s a 5 letter word for bother?”
Her: “I’m trying to get out the door, Alan. I’m going to be late for my match. Get the Thesaurus, okay? I’ll call you later, bye.”
Him: “Oh fine. But could you please stop on the way home and pick me up some Metamucil? Oh and also, we’re out of Popsicles. I don’t like the generic ones. Get the real thing this time.”
Her:  {WHACK WHACK WHACK.}

or the most likely scenario:

Him: “Good morning honey.”
Her: “DIE MOTHERFUCKER!” {WHACK WHACK WHACK.}

Yeah, it’s probably good I don’t watch the news more often.

Now where the hell is my husband going with all our coffee mugs?

Men! {sigh}

 

 

Are you a dog person or a cat person?

Are you a dog person, a cat person, or just a really awful person who hates every last one of God’s creatures? Join me today In The Powder Room as I make sweeping generalizations about all of humanity.

 

C’mon! It will be fun!

with big wet slobbery dog kisses and warm kitty snuggles,
Leslie

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