We really tend to rely quite heavily on my wife to be a problem solver in our household. It’s not that I’m some kind of incompetent buffoon, but she just usually does things so much better. And faster. And without as many problems.
Anyway, since she went back to work, it’s left me on my own with the kids a lot more. And I mean a lot. To the point where i actually had to memorize all their names, instead of just referring to them as “the girl,” “the tall one,” “funny ears,” and “the really weird one that’s not mine.” Aside from all the issues that can arise at any moment with the kids, add four dogs into the mix, and the house can get pretty sporty at times. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty good at handling most things, but I’m definitely not one of those dads that gets his man-panties in a bunch if there’s an inkling that my wife might be better suited for the job. That said, every once in a while I feel the need to reach out for technical support (my wife, while she’s at work). The following is an example of one of those times…
*ring, ring, ring, ring* (this is me calling my wife while she’s at work. Duh.)
Wife: Thank you for calling Donna World, (this isn’t really where she works, but her name is Donna and she acts like the real place would go out of business without her, so…) how can I help you?
Me: Hey, it’s me.
Wife: (in a hushed, yet impactful voice…kind of like the Devil himself, whispering) What do you want?! You know not to call me at work. The place might crumble to the ground if I focus on something else for 2-3 minutes! (ok, I made up that last sentence)
Me: What are you doing?
Wife: (growling like a highly agitated werewolf) Working, you moron! Is the house on fire?
Me: Um, no….well, hold on. Let me go check
Wife: (sighs. a highly agitated sigh…like a werewolf with an extremely short fuse)
Me: Ok, I’m back. The house is good.
Werewolf: Moron. I figured. Are the kids ok?
Me: Yes, but I wanted to te…
Werewolf: Then stop calling me!
*beep, beep, boop, boop, boop, beep, boop.* (me, dialing her back)
Wife: Thank you for calling Donna World, how can I he…
Me: Hey, it’s me. What are you doing?
Wife: Are you completely fucking kidding me? THE SAME THING I WAS DOING 17 SECONDS AGO WHEN I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING!
Me: Oh. Are you in a bad mood?
Wife: (not sounding very customer friendly) ThankyouforcallingDonnaWorld,canIhelpyou!?
Me: Hey, it’s me. Why are you talking so fast?
Wife: So I can get you off the phone and call a divorce lawyer. What. Do. You. Want. (this is blurted more in an angry sounding way, than in actual question form)
Me: Hold on a sec, I’m getting another call.
Werewolf: (actually sounding like a werewolf that’s mad enough to eat another werewolf) GRRRRRRR!!!!
Me: Ok, I’m back.
*dialing back. Again.*
*phone picks up, but nobody says anything*
Me: Uh, hello? Donna World?
Wife: (in a very scary, calm voice) Why are you doing this to me?
Me: Yeah, it’s me.
Wife: I know it’s you. Like I said, why are you doing this to me?
Me: Doing what?
Wife: (breathing very heavily…kinda like one of those crazy eyed, wild bulls with the big gold ring through it’s nose, where every time it takes a breath, smoke comes out of it’s nose holes) DOING THIS! Keeping on calling me for no reason at all! WHEN I’M WORKING!!??
Me: Why are you yelling?
Crazy eyed, wild bull: ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!!?? I’M GONNA LOSE MY JOB WITH ALL THIS TALKING ON THE PHONE!!!!
Me: But we’re not really talking. You’re just kinda sorta yelling and stuff and I just wanted to tell yo…
*sound like an overloaded dump truck driving 95 miles per hour into an aluminum shed without stopping…this is what I’m assuming is the phone being rather vigorously placed back on the receiver.*
Wife: (roaring like a majestic, yet really hungry lion) FOR FUCK’S SAKE….WHAT!!!???
Me: How’d you know it was me? What if it was like the president of Donna World?
Majestic, yet really hungry lion: DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU’RE PISSING ME O…
Me: The Poodle has shit in his hair.
Me: The Poodle has shit in his hair.
Wife: (completely calm, now) You mean by his tail?
Me: No. On his head.
Me: Yeppers. Right there on top.
Wife: Well, how did that happen?
Me: I don’t know. That’s why I called you.
Wife: What the…how the hell am I supposed to know what happened? I’ve been at work!
Me: I thought you might have smelled it or something. It really stinks.
Wife: Well, then CLEAN it!
Me: I tried. With a napkin. But it really just made it worse. Now there’s little napkin balls all in there too.
Wife: Just…listen. Just do what you have to do to have it cleaned by the time I get home. Ok?
So I cut the fuckin’ dog’s hair.
Mind you, I am not a dog groomer. Nor am I very adept at using scissors. But I decided I was gonna stake my claim at being a problem solver. I figured it was either cut his hair, or wash it, and I’m not very fond of doing the old lather, rinse, repeat with a 55 pound Poodle puppy with shit in his hair.
So there you have it. I solved a rather shitty situation all by my self. Of course when the werewolf…er, wife came home, she didn’t exactly see it that way. Something about the regal and handsome appearance of our Poodle puppy looking like he had the top of his head cut by a weed whacker.
Some folks might ask how the Poodle actually got the shit on top of his head, and that I do not know. Even though he’s a puppy, he’s still the largest of our dogs, so that kinda eliminates the possibility that one of the others were physically able to hold him down and shit on his head. He also didn’t really provide any useful information when I asked him about it.
The werewolf is currently investigating.