Go wash your "spork"

Suffering from P.T.D.D.

That’s Post Traumatic Disneyland Disorder.

What this means is,

1.       I’m Exhausted.

2.       I’m broke.

3.       My house is destroyed cuz I haven’t been home.

4.       I don’t care.

Bottom line is, this morning I ate my cereal out of a measuring cup with a handle and a “spork” from Taco Bell.

Whatever….

So I left the teenage son home with the pup for my fabulous adventure and now I am paying the piper.

He actually “did the dishes” yesterday but they are mightily suspect and require close inspection before I can attempt to use them.

“What do you mean the water has to be hot and I NEED to use soap…..Why is that a requirement?”

“Can’t I just wave them under cold water and wipe them on my right hip?

“You’re so picky.”

For those of you who don’t own teenage sons, their version of clean is not found in any dictionary on the planet.

Organizational skills consist of individual piles of things on the floor and to hear them tell it, “they know where everything is.”

All items removed from any location in their room require rubber gloves and a pair of taco tongs if you know what’s good for you.

And again, I don’t care.

I posted a sign above our sink in the kitchen to alleviate a dish build-up in our household.

IMPORTANT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

PLEASE BE ADVISED!!

The maid died yesterday so do your own dishes..

Oh that’s right, we never had a maid, but if we did,

SHE WOULD HAVE DIED FROM DOING SO MANY DANG DISHES!!!

The Management

You can’t see it cuz it has a pile of plates in front of it.

Whatever….

It’s still amuses me.

Before I go to work I need to go wash my “spork” and my measuring cup.

Wouldn’t want to add to the pile.

That would be unthinkable.....

……….I’m just sayin’