Oh, poor underdeveloped, overrated Tropical Storm Beryl. Worry not, for judging by the amount of damage inflicted in my home, you had the strength of a hurricane.
Furniture upended, strips of paper strewn about, Sharpie streaks on the counter, every clean sheet unfolded, Dorito chips in the bathroom. Who eats Doritos in the bathroom? My kids, that’s who. My kids, who Beryl forced inside for two whole days. Hence the damage. BWAH!
Other casualties of the storm:
- Two rats. I implored Hot Firefighter Husband to clean out the garage because I had spotted something small and furry (a kitten? a squirrel? a baby platypus?) scurrying about one day. We disposed of so much stuff there’s a trailer-trash pile of garbage on our street. Finally, all that remained was….rat shit. Turd upon turd of rat shit. So Husband scrubbed the floor and strategically placed two traps baited with peanut butter near one of the two holes the rats had chewed in our wall. EW! I KNOW! The whole deal totally skeeves me out, and I know that skeeves isn’t a word, but, you know, it is what it is. Within five minutes, one rat’s neck was broken. Within an hour, another rat was flapping fruitlessly trying to escape, so Husband
beat it to death with a bat thoughtfully euthanized it. Now he’s strutting around like a Masai warrior who has slayed 14 lions. You go, man.
- My good black boots. When my son isn’t trying his best to rip the beating heart from my chest, he’s thinking of ways to improve the artistry visible in the world. Hence, he borrowed part of his sister’s Duct Tape collection to create spurs on my boots, then he stomped around the house looking for a horse to mount. No luck with that last part.
- The Diva’s Duct Tape collection. See above.
- Overall sense of innocence. An internet porn incident occurred. No further information will be revealed.
So thanks, Beryl, for swinging by. Next time, though, just take the rats. BWAH!