My best friend is building a house just down the road from me, even further into the sticks than I’m located. Why am I telling you this, you may wonder? Well, because to build a new house one needs to find and hire trades people who are willing to travel out to the middle of butt-fark nowhere to build said house.
Trades people would include plumbers.
I could hear angels singing once again. The wheels in my brain started turning (much like the wheel in my daughter’s hamster cage) and before long I had a plan.
Donning my infamous purple shirt, I figured there was no way a plumber could ignore my chi chi’s tale of woe. I was armed with charm, a pushup bra winning smile and a checkbook. What more could I need to fix my crapper?
Thankfully my best friend took pity on me. One look at my tub of shit was all it took to convince her to join me in my plans to kidnap her plumber.
I don’t know if it was the purple shirt, my loud and proud girls or the fact I promised he could charge me what ever he wanted but soon enough I had managed to commandeer my best friend’s plumber. He took one look at my boobs bath tub and went to work on my septic system.
Fric and Frac were amazed with his plumbing proficiency. Within an hour I had a drained pipe, a working toilet and a poop-free tub. In the eyes of my ten and eleven year old kids, he suddenly shot from being a mere mortal to a superstar, on par with the likes of Justin Timberlake and Spiderman.
They hung on his every word and laughed at every crappy (heh heh) joke he told. It was puppy love at it’s finest. At one point it was so bad I shooed them out of the bathroom just to get them from underfoot. Yet they were firmly enthralled and refused to stray far, instead choosing to sit on the floor outside the washroom door and make googly eyes at their new hero.
Slightly unnerved and not used to being idolized for his shit removal prowess, my new plumber friend turned to me to make small talk as he wrote up a bill for an amount equivalent to Frac’s future tuition costs.
(Sorry Frac. But I had to make a choice…the ability to shit in my toilet freely or your future as Beer Bong King of the Alpha Omega fraternity. It was an easy choice.)
“So do you work?” he asked while trying to avoid eye contact with my enamored children.
“No. I discovered a magical spell that does all the cooking, cleaning, accounting, driving and child rearing a parent could want, rendering me free to spend my time lounging on my couch, popping bonbons and watching soaps all day.” Dumbass. I’d like to see a mom who doesn’t work, cuz those are some skills I need to learn.
“Um, I meant, do you have a job outside of motherhood?” he asked while looking at me like I grew a third tit that liked flap around wildly on my chest.
“Oh. Ya. Well, I like to think I’m an internet porn star, but really I’m a blogger. I write online.”
“So you’re a writer. That’s cool,” he said as he handed me the bill that ensured my son’s future as a Wal-Mart greeter.
We talked for a few more minutes as he gathered up his tools and then as quick as my tub filled with crap, he was gone, back to ensure my best friend’s new house doesn’t have the same problem mine did.
As I turned to get the bleach and the commercial grade rubber gloves to clean out the filthy mess my tub left for me, I noticed Fric glaring at me.
“What?” I questioned.
“Why did you tell him that?” she huffed.
“Tell him what?” I asked while wondering what bug crawled up her pre-pubescent ass.
“That you have a job. That you are a writer. You’re just a mom,” she informed me in a snotty tone.
Unfreakingbelievable. I went through almost ten months of hell to gestate this ingrate, endured eight hours of torture to squeeze her out and subsequently suffered eleven years of parenting so that she could stand before me and tell me I’m just. a. mom.
“Well, I realize I’m just a mom,” I say as I use the finger quotations, “but I’m also a writer. What do you think I do on my blog? Post pictures of my boobs?” I asked as I eyed the disgusting mess in my tub.
“That’s not real writing, Mom.” She spoke to me as though I was a dimwitted moron. Kinda like her dad does when he tries to explain to me what he does for a living. Hmmm.
“Well, it’s not exactly fake, darlin’.” I don’t know whether to be amused or annoyed at this point.
“A real writer writes books. Like Harry Potter,” she explained.
“I’m working on it. I’m planning on writing an award-winning novel about a little girl who steps in it so deeply she is forced to clean the remains of sewage out of her mother’s bathtub. She is permanently scarred with this wild injustice she grows up to be come a rich, over-educated super hero who saves the world from it’s garbage and sewer problems. It is going to be a critic’s delight. Movie producers will be knocking at my door, clamoring for the rights to turn it into this century’s smash box office hit.”
“Very funny, mom.”
“Ya, almost as funny as you cleaning out my tub. Now get ‘er done.”
“You’re so mean.”
“Mean and wily. Now I’ve got to get to work on some real writing. I’ve got me a book to write.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone I had to clean up poo, are you?” she begged.
“Who would I tell?” I countered.
It’s not like I’m a real writer or anything.
He he.
Payback’s a bitch. Wait till she sees the picture I snapped as she was scrubbing away oblivious to her mom lurking in the doorway.
I’ve got me a clean tub, working toilet and blackmail material to ensure future good behaviour. All in all, I’m thinking it was a rather productive day.
For just a mom.
60 Comments
Oh MAN I’d have lost my shit all over again at that one.
There are really few things on this earth as snotty as pre-pubescent girls, are there?
Nice ta-tas. I’d have fixed your shittub for free.
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Hey, Ive said it before,
Nice Rack!
That will make you get far, and tell her if she is lucky, and genes follow her up her tree, she to will have a nice rack and see that while they dont exactly fit into locks, they will open doors!
LOL
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Oh, dear. There would have to be some payback for the whole “just a Mom” comment, and it would go deeper than shit-tub cleaning at my hand. Unfrackingacceptable.
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HAHA.
Just a mom… who can make your life ONE LIVING HELL.
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Boy I can’t WAIT until I have kids…(note the sarcasm) Good job on comandeering the plumber!
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This post ROCKS.
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HA HA HA HA!
Payback is a bitch, indeed.
AND?
That photo?
DAMN.
My cleavage is not so heavenly and I PAID to have the girls”Reclaimed”.
(Yes, that crackling sound you hear would be envy, pure and simple.)
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as always, you rule!
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“He took one look at my boobs … and went to work on my … system … Within an hour I had a drained pipe …”
Amazing what happens to text when it passes through the filter known as the male brain.
But seriously, “just a mom”? I’m surprised you didn’t dip her hand in warm water while she slept!
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Your comebacks rule all! And could you send me that spell that you found? I’m in dire need of some bonbon-popping, soap-watching time while my house cleans itself.
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My mom always told me “a push up bra is a girls breast friend” She is kinda like you, by the way. Oh, and even with having a mom “kinda” like you I still turned out to be awesome. LOL
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A good push up and a low cut shirt will get you everywhere no matter what anyone says……
Good grief on the “Just a MOM” from the little one the best revenge will be when she has kids and you can tell her she is “Just a MOM” while she is figuring out how to be just that….hell it is such an easy job…NOT!
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Good work T! I bow down to you, oh Yummy Mummy Supreme!
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Plumber! Yay!
Just a mom? Boo. I know my daughter thinks such things — only in reverse since I work 8 hours a day 20 miles away in L.A. (so I spend another couple hours on the freeways!).
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You are just a rock-f*cking-star-hero to me - damn you are cool with your charmin’ tata’s and all. Just a mom? My ass. That’s like saying the Pope is just a guy with a funny hat.
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I have loved purple shirt long time.
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I guess the shit hit the fan over that one…
My daughter told me she wanted to be a mommy when she grows up.
We’ll see how that works.
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My son and I had a similar conversation. Too bad I didn’t have a bathtub for him to clean out. That, and my son has no idea what a “blog” is.
Props to the boobies. Gotta love the power of the old fun bags, eh?
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Hey! Is your daughter my inner critic? She sounds just like her.
Now I know what to do whenever that little voice pipes up; I’m going to make her clean up poop. Yeah!
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You’re a real writer. With great tits.
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Git her RM!!!! For all of us who are “Just Moms”. I get that all the time. And my kids are 6 and 7.
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I’m imagining you proudly displaying that photo of Fric at her rehearsal dinner…
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Redneck, you are MY kind of mom.
And my toilets need scrubbing, when she’s done with your tub.
xoxo CGF
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Food for thought: perhaps you should have the best of the poo clean-up pictures screened onto a t-shirt…and wear it at your next trip to the schoolhouse. OR have it screened onto a birthday cake. haha
just kidding. Ps. Way to work the boobies. Plumbers are difficult to obtain. You have to real ‘em in somehow.
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Very, very well played. Using both your body and your mind, you ruled the day. Any Mom worth her weight in gold would be jealous.
Ron
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Oh, woman, how I love thee.
I, too, have a miscreant who doesn’t recognize writing as working, nor mothering as anything but something I manage to f-up on a daily basis.
And the evil part of me cannot wait for the day that her daughter is born and making snarky comments about the appropriate way to fold laundry to her.
Until then, it’s margarita’s and thick skin.
And while I cannot wait to meet you someday, let’s pledge to never let our daughters know the other exists.
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My mom would’ve done the same thing when I was younger!! It made me laugh all the same. I’m glad to hear you got your shit back in place!
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Y’know, a fellow blogger once told me that cleavage guarantees hits. I guarantee yours a best-seller, movie deal, and television rights.
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I’m reminded to be grateful that Tacy thinks my blog is cool. For now. Because she will totally hate my guts in another five years for everything that I’ve written about her.
Can you send that plumber due south? I’ve got a leaky shower door.
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Just a mom?
With that cleave and the foresight to have purchased the Infamous Purple Shirt?
No.
You are a domestic goddess/writer who knows how to put the small fry back into their proper place. Photos of tub-cleaning! I love your evil side.
(Re your execution of wiles — I could get a hoist and implants and my rack wouldn’t get me a cable guy, let alone a plumber.)
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Um. That’s WAY better than the strangling I would have done. Cuz, poop is easy to clean. Dead bodies? Sooo much more work.
Also? I love your rack picture.
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LOL…wow… low blow…
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“WE’RE NOT WORK!” my daughter once said, outraged, when I replied that I’m a stay-at-home mother. Yeah, that’s what she thinks.
Lovely rack. Mine sadly no longer possesses the magical powers it once held.
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A very fitting punishment, indeed!
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Heh. That’ll teach her.
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LOL! You kill me. I say it was the shirt. I can honestly say I’ve never said this before, but, nice rack. LOL!
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Ooh, evil mom. Love you for that, babe.
And I won’t get the thought of a third tit flapping in the wind out of my head all day. I spit out my coffee at that one.
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Not a bad blackmail job for just a mom who’s not a real writer!
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dude, you have project management skillz i would KILL for.
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“Just a mom”? Tell her that her time is coming.
Glad to see the return of the purple shirt too. Keep us informed of any future usage.
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I sent this post to both my mom and my mother-in-law. My Mom sent me this email this morning.
“Tell her thanks for all the “just a mom’s” out there.”
My son is almost three and I haven’t heard this yet, but I did get this:
http://leftcoastmama.net/2008/01/13/things-you-dont-want-to-hear/.
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Your funny, like really funny!
I’m glad I found your blog….hope you don’t mind me becoming a stalker of it!
I’m just starting a blog and if you feel so inclined to stop by…please do!
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Nice rack! And nice writing!
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Better watch it. They were so impressed with that plumber they’ll be walking around with plumber’s crack.
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You’re my hero. Nice rack and great payback.
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I don’t think I’ve ever read a funnier blog entry before in my life. You now have me as a devoted reader
:)
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Hil.ar.i.ous.
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I love that you use the purple shirt. Mine’s red. It hasn’t let me down yet!
Most excellent response on the “Just a Mom” I’ll try to remember that when I have kids.
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Heh. You are evil in a genius way I can totally relate to.
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When people say they’re “just a mom,” (which I am guilty of on occassion), it’s a load of sh*t! That’s like saying that Mexico is “a little warm.”
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You’re brilliant!!!
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Funny story!
BTW, just as I was checking out your blog (compliments of Bossy) and your rack, my 4-year-old looked at the screen and asked, “Is that someone’s butt?”
I guess that means he likes ‘em.
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Even though your writing is of the “fake” variety, it made me laugh.
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Gotta love kids. My children think of me as not only their mom, but also their maid, cook, and dry cleaner. Love your blog BTW!
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God, I love your writing.
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ok so you have an awesome rack. I still compete…
way to let Frac know the deal.
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Darling. I meant Fric.
And I would buy any book you wrote any day and wear a tshirt on my AWESOME rack to promote it.
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Sometimes the ties that bind us are so…foul. I know intimately the trials of full bowls of shit. I didn’t, however, ever consider the power of the breast in matters of the ass T & A, duh.
Thanks.
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I gotta get me a purple shirt. Perhaps it would inspire my hubbie to actually do something around the house. And I mean housework, not me.
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Too darn funny.
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