Thanksgiving steals my birthday thunder.

Jimi Hendrix. Caroline Kennedy. Bruce Lee.

…. Fine.

And Jaleel White – also known as Steve Urkel.

You know what they all have in common? November 27th. They all share a birthday with me.

I know we can’t control our birthdays but is it really necessary to have sex on Valentine’s Day? Is it really necessary?

I say no. There’s no need for that. It’s a Hallmark holiday. Wooing consists of a mass produced “I love you” card and a dozen overpriced flowers. Do not cave for this, ladies. Not in February. Have your way with men in, oh I don’t know – July. Show ’em some real fireworks.

But if you are a romantic and get some booty smackin’ by Cupid then you better double up on birth control –

You risk conceiving a child with a Thanksgiving birthday.

My mom and dad let Cupid take aim and fire.

Any child born between November 22nd and November 28th will eventually have a Thanksgiving birthday. If not on the day, the birthday will get gobbled up Thanksgiving week and forgotten.

Thanksgiving birthdays are decided for you. It doesn’t matter if you’re turning 36 or if you’re turning 60. Thanksgiving birthdays are always the same.

  • Turkey and mashed potatoes. That’s your birthday dinner. You don’t get a choice where to eat because every restaurant is closed.
  • You can’t celebrate how most people celebrate birthdays. Brunch, pedicures, and shopping? Closed. It’s all closed. Sure, you have Black Friday but you risk getting trampled to death at 5 am. And that would just suck to have a matching birth and death day on your headstone.
  • Birthday lunch with friends? Forget it. They’re with their own families.
  • A Facebook serenade of “happy birthday!” on your feed? Nope. It’s considered rude to look at your phone at the dinner table. Your long-lost high school science partner will never know it’s your birthday.
  • Everyone naps on Thanksgiving. Wake up. I said wake up, it’s my birthday! Ok, I’ll just close my eyes for a little bit too.
  • It’s a sexist holiday. The men watch football. Woman, get your ass back in the kitchen, birthday girl!
  • Families get together for Thanksgiving. I cannot deny that it is special to be able to see out-of-town relatives. “Happy Thanksgiving” and hugs are given all around. It’s awkward staring at each person, waiting to see if they have anything else to say. I mean, I’m right here.
  • Some years, Thanksgiving birthdays are not with your own family. Some years, you’re forced to spend your birthday with the in-laws. And your mother-in-law fattening you up like a butterball turkey. This is not an insult. I just don’t have any self-control.
  • Thanksgiving is included in “the holidays.” Oh, that’s your Christmas present too.
  • When the pies are brought out for dessert, you pray one of them does not have candles on it. There is no substitute for birthday cake.

I know. I do exist. I can’t complain about the day I was born so thank you for making me, mom and dad.

It’s just not my choice day to pop out of the womb.

This is all Cupid’s fault – AIM FOR THE TURKEY, YOU FLYING BABY!

Just say no to sex on Valentine’s Day.


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I started drinking then I remembered I have a blog post to write.


I hosted dinner for 20 people at my house last night.

I’m hosting 30 people tonight. I’m hosting a rehearsal dinner on Saturday. There’s a wedding on Sunday. And my birthday is on Monday.

Thanksgiving, a wedding, and a birthday.

And then all of the sudden a whiskey showed up in my hand. 

Open the Photo Booth!

Here’s your blog post. We’re a beautiful family.


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And that’s how Emma and Kate skipped school today.

Day 21 of consecutive writing.

Are you sick of me yet?


I am.

Do you know who’s not sick of me?

My damn kids. They want to be in the middle of the Thanksgiving action. They asked if they could skip school on Monday. I said no and shoved them out of the car door. They asked if they could skip school today. I said no.

Kate called my dad.

I don’t know her conversation with him but I can tell you my dad wasn’t being a dad. He was being Funny Papa. He was filling Kate’s head with ideas on how to skip school.

“Start coughing a bunch around your mom. Act like you’re throwing up in the bathroom. Say you have diarrhea. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Remember that. Papa can write you a note. Do you need a note? You’re not going to school tomorrow – you tell your mom her dad said so.”

I told Emma and Kate they could take a vote with the extended family in town. Surely there had to be a few adult-minds.


I told the girls the only people that count on her list are Scott and me because we’re the parents. Kate instructed me to text my sisters. Next, she wanted me to message the rest of the family, coming in from out of town. She needed their vote. Every vote went Kate’s way.

I wrote an email to Kate’s teacher and I explained Kate’s school situation and attached the picture of her family poll.



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“My side” of the family.

I ran into my cousin, Bob, at a bar last night. I was with Scott’s family.


We were two drinks into dinner when Bob walked in. Scott was high on medication from the hospital.

Me: Oh shit.


Scott clapped. Scott’s family nervous laughed.

Bob: YOU NEED TO WRITE ABOUT ME AND OUR FAMILY MORE! We got an aunt showing her titties, we got a grandma shitting her pants…

Me: Goddammit.

Emily: Is this your real cousin?

Me: Yes, our dads are brothers.

It’s funny you say I need to write about you more, Bob. Because I have. I’ve written about our family.

And you wonder why I am the way I am.

A reprise blog post from four years ago. Believe me, my side of the family has gotten worse since then.


“In my 88 years on earth, I have never seen someone so blessed by a family like ours. I have never seen a family so loved by each other. I am so lucky to have each and every one of you.” — Grandma, Christmas 2013.

Don’t let Grandma fool you. Oh, she knows.

Everyone has a “crazy aunt” they have to put up with on Christmas. I have a “crazy family.” I’m not kidding you – this is how they act all the time with or without alcohol. I feel I must apologize in advance for their raunchy and inappropriate use of words in front of the kids. It’s not my style to fill my blog with profanity but I will make an exception for the family Christmas.

What that poor helpless fly on the wall heard in a neighborhood clubhouse:

Me: Scott, is it messed up if my Grandma called me last week to see how much beer you and I can drink for the party? That’s sweet. She wanted to make sure she buys enough. — Scott: Your family has some serious issues.

“There’s a 45 second over/under on when Grandma will start crying during her blessing. You in?”

“Is Grandma’s seat shit proof?”

“Why are we waiting to say Grace? — They went to get some liquor first.”

“Grandma, look at this picture of Emma’s deer she shot! — Oh, look at that. She shot that? Now, will the deer recover?”

“So Zach took a bite of my side dish in the car and spit it out. Then one of the kids tried it and spit it out. My dad said it tastes like something from the Middle East. I hope the rest of the family likes it.”

“So then the asshole neighbor decided to call animal patrol on us. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to hold me back from getting drunk, picking up every piece of dog shit in my yard and making a pile on their front porch. — Hey, did you know your grandmother did that once? Left a bag of shit with a note that said “your dog is shitting in my lawn.”

“AH! Who’s rubbing my shoulder? I hope you don’t have jizz on your hands!”

“Are we going to play spin the bottle? — No, we are going to play spin Grandma.”

“Go give your Grandmother a kiss. — Let’s get wet, Grandma!”

“Wait, why is Grandma giving my unborn baby a gift? Does she think she’ll be dead next year? — Just shove the gift up your vag.”

“Oh, this is going way too slow. Someone help that kid open that shit.”

“What’d you get? — Great. Fuck you.”

“I think my mom just farted. — Maybe it was a queef. — What does a queef even smell like? — Like a flower. Like a deflowering. They don’t stink at all.”

“Hey, show Julie that picture of my mom pissing herself.”

“Don’t put your ballsack in my face! Jesus Christ!”

“Hold on. Stop opening presents. Grandma is going to the bathroom. — Is someone going to go help her wipe? Tom, go help your mother wipe her ass.”

“I think Grandma grabbed a tampon out of her purse on the way to the bathroom.”

“Ok! Open your presents! — Let’s see how good Grandma’s gaydar is working.”

“I’m trying to grab his ballsack! Hold on, maybe I got the head. Have you seen his ballsack? I’m telling you, he mooned me once and they’re HUGE, like just hanging down like some sort of animal. He has the biggest ballsack I’ve ever seen. You should check them out sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure your husband just tongued Grandma.”

“Hey! There is nothing wrong with my ass! — Except it’s hairy.”

“That’s my wife’s seat but you can go ahead and sit here. You’re way hotter than her. — I’m your cousin, Bob.”

“I got an Oklahoma Joe’s gift card. You want to steal it, then come and get it. It’s in my pants.”

“Oh my gosh! It’s a flesh light! What’s a flesh light? It’s a vagina in a tube! Show grandma! (Grandma looks at it) Room starts chanting – TRY! IT! ON! TRY! IT! ON!”

“He just slapped the vagina. Is that his signature move?”

“Kate sure is pretty. But if she doesn’t like you, she has that “eat shit and die” face nailed down.”

“Where is the damn macaroni and cheese? What do you mean she didn’t make it? What kind of sister are you to tell her not to bring it? This is the only reason we invite her!”

“How’s the baby brewing? — He’s growing good! Did you know it’s a boy? I have a dick growing inside me!”

“So you can still have lots of sex right now while pregnant. But towards the end, you’ll have to cut him off. But hey, at least there is still anal.”

“Did you just grab him? — Yeah, I did. And there is nothing there. Same with his crotch, I grabbed that too.”

“I don’t want a baby that’s naked.”

“I don’t know where it went but I just spit out my food.”

“Go fill this up with half vodka. — You didn’t even say please. — I already took “care of you” earlier. I don’t have to say please.”

“Most gay guys are good looking, like models. You are definitely not gay.”

“Did you say I’m about to clear this section out? There aren’t even deviled eggs here!”

“Oh, hey. I am trying to teach your daughter how to poop in here.”

“He’s the only nephew I can mess with. — Yeah, you took a bath with him once too.”

“Nice necklace. You wearing anal beads around your neck these days?”


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Wieners take a lot of practice.

“You’re getting piss all over the place!”

Good afternoon.

Have you ever tried to control a penis while it’s peeing?

“I’m not stopping the stream. You better get some control.”

You need to ever so lightly press down on the penis so it makes the straight – straight-ish – stream into the toilet.

“Jesus, what are you doing?! You can’t reach in between my legs and grab it from underneath! That’s my sack!”

It takes practice.

“A grip?! What do you mean a grip?”

It takes precision. Ask any boy in potty-training.

“Your hands are ice cold. Don’t hit the crutches or I might fall.”

A penis doesn’t need toilet paper. A couple shakes will do.

“STOP LASSO’ING! It’s not a Goddamn rodeo. What the hell is wrong with you?! I swear to God, if I fall…”

Pull up the underwear.

“Don’t tuck it down! I’m not a baby!”

Pull up the pants, put the toilet seat down, and flush.

“Move. Move. Just leave the toilet alone. Do this later. I. can’t. move. I need you to help me move.”

Slowly, hobble back to bed and go to sleep.

“Wake up. I think I need to poop. I’ve been holding it, hoping it will go away. I don’t think a plate will work. Get me a bowl.”

And that’s the cue to take the penis to the hospital for back pain. If you can’t sit, that calls for a Godsend nurse – saving us all in the name of medicine.

I can help the penis but I cannot help the butthole.


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This isn’t the blog post I thought it would be.

This is a quick blog post today. I knew I would write about Scott working out with me – I just didn’t think he would end up with a back injury from the first warm-up move. 


Me: Scott, I’m so excited you’re going to work out with me at Fusion! Burn with your boy!


Scott: I’m going to get my ass kicked, aren’t I?

Me: Are you scared of two women?

Scott: Yes.

Me: Hm.

I flashback to yesterday’s workout.


Me: You’ll be fine.

Scott and I walked into Fusion. Men filled the lobby. They looked terrified.

Shauna: Hey, girl! Is this going to be a blog post?

Me: I already started taking video.

Scott found a familiar face, our friend, Erin.

Me: Hi, Erin!

Erin: Hey! I’m so glad you two came! You boys scared?

Scott: Yes.

Me: Scott, let’s get our spot. It looks crowded already.

Scott and I walked in the studio.

Me: Looks like only the middle is available.

Scott: I don’t want to be in the middle! Everyone is staring at us!

Me: THAT’S WHAT I SAY TOO! I hate the middle. I feel like everyone is watching me. We’ll be ok. These guys don’t know what they’re doing either.

Scott and I put our mats down. Scott stretched while I put my sweatshirt and purse away. The class started.

Shauna: Welcome to Burn with Your Boy! I’m Shauna. Guys – I’m going to make you sweat. Let’s go.

Shauna led the class into the first move.

Shauna: Hook, hook. Squat. Hook! Good!

I looked over at Scott.

Scott: I don’t know what I’m doing!

Me: I don’t either. Just move.

Shauna: And 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – and one.

Shauna moved to the next move.

Scott walked out.

What the. Maybe he has to pee. 

I finished the next set of moves and walked in the lobby.

Me: What happened? Too tough after one move!?

I laughed.

Scott stood completely still in the hallway.

Scott: My back went out. I can’t move.

Me: WHAT?! Do you need me to take you to the hospital?

Scott: My back was already sore before we got here. I heard it pop. It’s not as bad as last time but it’s bad.

Me: Here, I’ll get my stuff.

Scott: No, finish your workout. Maybe if I walk around it will be better. I can’t bend past this.

Scott tried to bend his waist.

Me: Well, maybe you can walk at JC Penney?

Scott: I’m going to try that. Go. Go workout. What time will it be done?

Me: 11:15. Are you sure? I don’t have to do this.

Scott: Just let me walk.

Me: Ok, text me if you need me.

I went back and finished the class. I left immediately and called Scott.

Me: Where are you?

Scott: Truck. I barely made it.

Me: You should have texted me! Did you walk at JC Penney?

Scott: Yeah for two minutes then I almost passed out.

Me: Jesus, Scott! I’m almost at the truck. Bye.

I opened the passenger door. Scott was flat on his back.

Me: Scott, do you need to go to the hospital? Or maybe we can get you into a doctor instead of ER.

Scott: Just take me home. They’ll only give me painkillers. It needs to heal on its own.

Me: Ok, let’s go home.

Scott: I’m sorry. I really want to do that class with you.

Me: I really wanted to write a blog post about this. It would have been hilarious.

Scott: Are you kidding me?

Me: You’re always gold, Scott. It’s not that kind of blog post, I guess.

I successfully drove him home without slamming on the brakes, helped him move slowly out of the car, and got him into the house. Moving from the truck to our house took 20 minutes. We finally got him to the couch. He is trying to get up to pee but he’s restricted to flat on his back.

I’m getting him a pee cup now.

Hoping tomorrow is better. A better Scott and a better blog post.


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Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

Screen Shot 2017-11-17 at 7.53.35 PM

Emma: Awesome. So our neighbors and family will be getting THIS in their mailboxes?

Me: We are not a normal family, Emma. Always remember this.

Emma: Did you show dad?

Me: No. He won’t care.

Emma: Did you show Kate?

Me: You know what? I don’t care what Kate thinks at this point because Kate won’t smile for a family picture. I will not let her ruin the family Christmas picture. We’ll ruin it together.

Emma: This is so embarrassing.

Me: This is the best Christmas card yet, Emma.

Merry Christmas!

With love, The Burtons

Scott, Julie, Emma, and Kate

Stella, Belle, and Penny (not pictured)

If you would like a real card – please email me your address at 


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A Thanksgiving planner.

Day 16.

16 consecutive days of writing.

It’s not over yet.

Day 23 is Thanksgiving in the United States.

Day 23 requires planning. Day 23 brings out the foodies, the NFL fans, the Pilgrim lovers, the shoppers, and any person that hates their job and wants a long weekend off. Day 23 sends the masses to a place on the internet known as Pinterest.

I am a fan of Pinterest. I use it a lot for dinner ideas. I use it for school parties. I use it to plan a rehearsal dinner I’m hosting the Saturday after Thanksgiving (Day 25, that’s another post).

I’m also quick to call bullshit on Pinterest.

A Thanksgiving Planner

Two weeks before

  • Plan a menu.
  • Select dishes and serving ware.
  • Tell yourself to stop stuffing your butterball ass with leftover Halloween candy. Jesus, get ahold of yourself.
  • Wash the sheets and towels for your house guests. Prepare the beds and bathroom for their stay. Say a prayer to sweet baby Jesus. “Dear baby Jesus, please don’t let the kids and pets urinate, defecate, puke, spit, let a runny nose run, slash someone’s leg with a butter knife, or let blood splatter on the fresh sheets and towels. I cannot do any more laundry. Thank you and amen.”

One week before

  • Get organized with lists. Make a grocery list and arrange the ingredients by location in the store.
  • Make a seating chart and place cards.
  • Prepare the kitchen. Clean out the pantry and fridge to make room for groceries and leftover dishes.
  • Clean your house. If desired, decorate.
  • Tell the kids you will send them to their room if they continue to whine about the kids table.
  • Throw out the seating chart because someone wrote  “is poop,” “is a butthead,” “pees her pants,” and “mommy is mean” on all the place cards.
  • Convince your kids that you weren’t trying to kill them with a barbecue sauce that expired last winter.
  • Or the ranch dressing from 2015. Good God, what is in here.
  • Don’t bother cleaning. You’re still a week out. Have you seen what kids can do in seven days? They urinate, defecate, puke, spit, let a runny nose run, slash someone’s leg with a butter knife and let blood splatter. They are walking crumbs. They pick their nose and wipe it on the walls. Oh, I went there. I went there because you’d be a fool to clean a week out.
  • Hide the evidence of Halloween decor. And the Halloween bags of candy. We already discussed this last week, butterball.

The Monday before

  • Purchase all nonperishable groceries.
  • If frozen, defrost the turkey.
  • Panic. You have a storm of people arriving from all over the country and you haven’t done shit. Snap at your spouse and scream he hasn’t done shit. Scream at the kids for not picking up a shoe. Apologize to your child for blowing up. Flip off your kid behind her back when she says, “it’s just a shoe, Cinderella’s evil stepmother.”
  • Give your spouse a grocery list and regret this decision as soon as he pulls out of the driveway.
  • Send your spouse back to the grocery store when he says he forgot the green beans, fried onions, cranberry sauce, corn, milk, and juice for the kids. But he did get in his beer run. 

The Tuesday before

  • Make pie dough.
  • Make cranberry sauce.
  • Cut the bread for stuffing into cubes.
  • Order a pie from the local bakery.
  • Check to make sure you have boxed mashed potatoes.
  • Scream at the family for eating all the groceries. Ask them if they can please stop eating for two days. Now you have to go to the store again.
  • Sit and pour yourself a glass of merlot. Rip open a slice of Kraft American cheese and cut the bread. It’s a wine, bread, and cheese dinner kind of night. You’ve worked hard this week.
  • Tell the kids it’s a cereal night. 
  • Realize you’re only two days into the week and laugh at yourself.
  • Might as well finish the bottle of merlot because you don’t want that turning into vinegar two nights from now.
  • Tell yourself you should be a damn scientist for remembering wine turns into vinegar because you’re drunk now.

The Wednesday before

  • Chop veggies. Place in bowls of water in the fridge.
  • Shop for remaining groceries that spoil easily.
  • Prepare any side dishes that can be made ahead.
  • If you’re making a fresh turkey, pick it up from the market.
  • Make a list in your head of all the crap you have to do while laying in bed watching the Hallmark Channel’s Christmas movies. You have a monster headache.
  • Scream at the kids to stop fighting. They’re out of school now.
  • Feel the lightening pain shoot through your head after screaming.
  • Get your ass out of bed.
  • Pick up some pre-made sides from the grocery store. 
  • Navigate through swarms of people with your shopping cart. Contemplate running into their heels with your cart. Remind yourself how much you hate people.
  • Walk down the grocery aisle and wonder if you could shoot a turkey if you were a pilgrim.
  • Wonder if the pilgrims had guns.
  • Wonder if the pilgrims strangled turkeys.
  • Tell yourself, no, that’s what the Native Americans were for.
  • Wonder if Native Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. God, the pilgrims and white folks were assholes.
  • Make a mental note to browse the history channel’s website because you completely forgot what we’re celebrating.
  • Pick up the pie from the bakery you called in.


  • Remove turkey from the fridge in the morning and let come to room temperature.
  • Make the stuffing.
  • For dinner at 5 p.m., put turkey in at noon.
  • Reheat cranberry sauce.
  • Mash the potatoes.
  • Make appetizers.
  • Chill wine and cocktails.
  • Have a fabulous time.
  • Wonder if everyone is going to get massive diarrhea after eating a turkey thawing at room temperature.
  • Chill wine and cocktails – that shit was chilled last week. Cross that bitch off your list.
  • Heat up all the appetizers and sides you bought pre-made. Keep an eye out for the side-eyes. I see you, KAREN. 
  • Wonder who the hell eats cranberry sauce.
  • Yell at your spouse for watching football and not helping with cooking. Explain to him that this is 2017 – get his ass up and help. God damn.
  • Apologize to Grandma for the profanities but if any generation is going to break this sexist chain of Thanksgiving customs, it’s yours.
  • Pour yourself a glass of wine because there’s too many people in your kitchen. And now Grandma is giving you a side-eye.
  • Tell the kids no one gets pie unless they stay at the kids table. Separate your daughters because one is stabbing the other with a fork. 
  • Take a picture of your plate. Add it to Instagram once everyone says “amen.” Hashtag Thanksgiving dinner. Hashtag thankful. Hashtag family. Hashtag blessed.
  • Have a fabulous time. Thanksgiving is over until next year.


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Wordless Wednesday.







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The carpet repair guy just got his own blog post.

Me: Thank you so much for getting me in today! My husband is putting away the dogs. You can come in.

Carpet Repair Guy (Oh, let’s just call him Mike): You’re welcome. So a cat problem, huh?

Mike put an old towel down on the rug and stomped his wet shoes.

Me: Yes, our cat is scratching the carpet upstairs. She likes to scratch the corner of the doors. There’s about 4 or 5 spots. I’ll show you.

Mike: Lead the way.

I took Mike upstairs.

Me: Ok, so here. Here. Here. And in my daughter’s room, two spots there. We have leftover carpet in the basement.

Mike: Yep. Easy fix. I’ll get my things from my truck. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.

I led Mike to the entry. I waited at the door while Mike got his things and entered the house again. He stomped his feet.

Mike: And where is the extra carpet?

Me: It’s in the basement. Follow me. Here it is. You can cut it wherever, we’re only using it for scraps.

Mike cut a square out.

Me: Oh, that’s it?

Mike: Do you have more spots that appeared since I left?

Me: No.

Mike: Then that’s it.

Me: Oh, ok.

I guided Mike back up two flights of stairs. Mike huffed at the top.

Mike: Wow, you must have some calves of steel.

Me: I actually don’t come up here a lot. The master is on the main level. The kids have the loft and bedrooms to themselves.

Mike: Aren’t you out of breath? Man, I should probably start up smoking. So when I quit smoking it will feel like I can breathe again.

I laughed. Mike didn’t laugh.

Me: Oh.

Mike: Are you going to stand here and watch? Or do you want to learn how to do this?

Me: I am concerned the cat will do this again, so yes, I want to see.

Mike: It’s not hard if you’re particular. I’ll show you. You’ll need a glue gun. These two different types of shears. Right now I’m trying to figure out which direction your carpet was laid down. It’s going this way, right?

Me: Yeah, that looks right.

Mike laughed.

Mike: What am I doing asking you? You’ve never done this.

Me: Oh. Right. Yeah.

Me: Do you have any suggestions on getting a cat to stop scratching the carpet? I bought cat posts and cat nip and I have….

Mike looked up at me and stared.

Mike: Why would I tell you the answer to that.

Me: Oh! Right.

I nervous laughed.

Mike looked back down at his work.

Mike: Actually, what I found is that cats and dogs usually want something. If you figure out what the cat wants, she’ll stop.

Me: To sharpen her claws?

Mike: Does she use the posts?

Me: Yes.

Mike: Then she wants something else. If I had to guess she wants in this bedroom and this bathroom. She’s trying to dig her way in. Leave the doors open.

Me: Leave the doors open? I’ve been keeping them shut this whole time, thinking she won’t scratch if there’s a door there.

Mike looked up and stared at me.

Me: Oh. Ok, I get it.

Mike: You really don’t come up here, do you? You keep picking up everything.

Me: Yeah, my kids are gross. I have a friend that warned me about building a house with the master on the main. I’ll never come upstairs and it will be disgusting. She was not kidding.

Mike ignored me. He continued to work then stood up.

Mike: Hm. Well the cat must like this kid.

Me: That’s my daughter. This is Emma’s room. Yeah, for whatever reason, the cat hasn’t destroyed Emma’s carpet.

Mike looked at me.

Me: Maybe because she never shuts her door.

We walked to Kate’s room.

Mike: Whoa! This cat really got to this kid. It’s all the way to the wood trim of the door. And the original carpet installer tucked the tape. I hate it when they do that. It’s a lazy practice. They learned how to install carpet from big daddy, Billy Bob, and get set it their ways.

Me: Oh, uh huh.

Mike: Big daddy, Billy Bob, telling them what to do.

Mike stared at me.

Me: OH! A joke! I get it. I get it.

I laughed.

Me: We haven’t declawed the cat. I don’t think many vets do that anymore.

Mike: It’s cruelty to animals. I’m not a cat person but it’s a cruel thing to do to your cat. I saw an x-ray of a cat’s declawed paw. The paw was all turned in and deformed. Immediate arthritis. A horrible practice. People just need to figure out what the cat wants.

Me: Right. I grew up with declawed cat. I guess this cat is lucky.

Mike: This cat wants freedom.

Me: Yes. Freedom. Leave the doors open.

Mike finished the carpet. I went downstairs. Mike followed.

Mike: Do your neighbors have a chicken coop or something? A barn? Is that a house? No, it’s not a house. No roof.

Me: Uh, I’m not really sure what that is. I’ve actually never noticed that. Wait, where?

Scott yelled from his office.

Scott: Yes! It’s a barn. My wife’s an idiot.

Mike: You’ve never noticed a barn in your backyard?

Me: Uhhh, I…don’t…pay attention.

Mike: To your backyard?! With these huge windows?

Me: I’m not observant, I guess. My mind starts wandering….and whatever. Here’s your check. Thank you so much.

Mike: No, thank you. Here’s my card.

Mike walked to the entry. He picked up his used towel.

Me: Oh, wait! Is this your wallet?

Mike: I wouldn’t carry a crappy wallet like that.

Mike peeked into Scott’s office.

Mike: Did he hear me? I said “I WOULDN’T CARRY A CRAPPY WALLET LIKE THAT.”

I laughed and showed Mike out.

Me: SCOTT. That guy was hilarious. He had this dry humor. He would make jokes but it would take me a little bit to realize he’s joking. I felt really dumb and really smart at the same time. I think he liked that it took me a little bit to realize he was making jokes. I’m totally going to use this guy again. Oh! He said to leave the doors open. Penny is trying to get in the rooms.

Scott: Really?

Me: I guess we can try it. Unless that was more dry humor and I just opened the floodgates for her to scratch fresh carpet? He’s probably laughing in his car right now because he just got his own blog post.


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