Give a man a fish, and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he eats every day. Make a big pot of chili on Friday night and your husband and son can feed themselves for a whole weekend and you don’t have to do a thing. Except put it back in the refrigerator after they’re done, because the concept of “food poisoning” doesn’t seem to mean anything to them, at least not when in competition with ‘convenience.’ Oh, and be sure to put out extra toilet paper.
In our house, “Hey, give me a dip” doesn’t mean what you might think it would mean.
As for that sinkful of dirty bowls, well, I’ll deal with that on Monday, when I get home from class and am willing and happy to do ANYTHING rather than grade papers.
I do let them leave the big bottle of killer pepper sauce out. No germ could live under the influence of that much heat.
When I walk past the sink and breathe in, my sinuses clear immediately. This house is full of really hot chili fumes.
Which is way better than the sewage fumes that used to permeate my former school building about twice a month. The pipes leading from the bathrooms to the septic tank were crooked, and the, um, ‘stuff’, gathered in the bends till it caused some major blockage, which then backed up and filled the school with stinkum. And why were the pipes crooked? The school was built by the lowest bidder, and you get what you pay for.
Were the children dismissed? No, they were not. We stayed inside a building that stunk like a state park outhouse, and we did math and smelled spelled. And then we took the children to the cafeteria and they were expected to eat. And the principals pretended that nothing was wrong, because there was an away game that night and all the buses were needed to transport the teams, and couldn’t be spared to take our kids home in the middle of the day and still have enough buses for the regular routes plus the sports stuff. And little kids with a bad home life returned to school the next day wearing the same clothes, and it was deja vu.
Or ‘deja poo,’ as the case may be.