Friday, April 11, 2008

the accusation and the tragedy and the short memories

THE ACCUSATION: This morning I ordered the children to get dressed if they wished to be conveyed to the Daly City Playhouse, an establishment comprised largely of a three story climbing structure shaped like a castle, abutted by a number of couches upon which a Drunken Housewife may recline. Their preparations were interrupted by conflict.

"MOM!! LUCY SAYS I HAVE A GOOGOL CLOTHES!!" shouted a livid eight year-old Iris.

"Well, you do have a lot of clothes. Maybe not a googol but that's not an insult."

"YES, IT IS!!"

I threatened cancelling our expedition if they didn't stop their squabbling, but I regretted that rash utterance once it had crossed my lips. If I didn't take them to the Playhouse, I'd be stuck with the fighting siblings all morning at home. Thankfully they did not realize the hollowness of my threat and instead toed the line, more or less.


After the children had spent a delirious hour cavorting and giggling ecstatically in the Playhouse, I herded them out to the car. The sun shone into Lucy's eyes, and she said bitterly, "I'm having a TERRIBLE MORNING!"

"What! I just drove you guys here and paid for you to play, and that's a 'TERRIBLE MORNING?"


This evening, after a beautiful and full day, the Sober Husband asked Iris Uber Alles how her last day of spring break went.


"WHAT!" I interjected. "I took you to the Playhouse, and I took you out to lunch, and I bought you a comic book and a magazine, and I took you to the beach, and then I took you out to the Beach Chalet!! And I listened to your yammering! How can you say that was terrible??"

Iris hemmed and hawed.

"Look at your shirt!" (said shirt was bespeckled with sauce from the grilled asparagus and catsup from the garlic fries consumed sloppily by the child at the Beach Chalet). "It's evidence of spoilage! I have spoiled you!"

THE TRAGEDY: At home this evening, the children munched some goldfish crackers while watching a Simpsons episode. (Iris Uber Alles was horrified recently to learn that the Simpsons have been banned in Venezuela. "We must NEVER, NEVER go there!!!"). In doing so, they made a hellish mess of cracker crumbs upon the floor, which they were bade to sweep up. In tidying their mess, Iris put some crackers which were on a little table back into the bag of crackers. Five year-old Lucy burst into tears.


We consoled her, explaining that the crackers were fine and could still be eaten. She could still take some crackers from the bag if she wanted more.

'BUT I WON'T KNOW WHICH ONES WERE MINE!!" she sobbed. Oh, the humanity.


hughman said...

OMG! such DRAMA QUEENS! where did that come from?

Silliyak said...

I suppose it would be unkind to point out that an omniscient being WOULD know which were hers' or better yet, being a/the supreme being, ALL of them were hers, or even WERE HER.

the Drunken Housewife said...

I don't think the God Lucy is an omniscient god. I think she's more of a limited purpose god, like the Greeks and Romans had. Venus was the goddess of love, Mars the god of war, and Lucy is the god of Sending You To Hell Where You Won't Have Any Friends.

Anonymous said...

Yes. Lucy is the god of sending people to hell where they won't have any friends. But I believe that she wishes to be called, "the god of whoever hates Iris". But the way she chooses to use her ability is to send people to hell where they won't have any friends. Is there any way we can avoid this horrible alternative? I believe she would say to me,

Anonymous said...

wait, was that Iris or SH?

the Drunken Housewife said...

It was Iris Uber Alles.

Whenever she reads this blog, I always cringe. I feel like I'm the child, being caught out by my parents. Iris can be so authoritative.

(If I have been writing depressing stuff, I ask her not to read, and then she does take a break from it, but I don't stop her from reading the stuff about herself & Lucy and offering rebuttals).

hughman said...

i still get nervous when iris comments here. maybe because she's so eloquent she would kick my ass in a conversation.

the Drunken Housewife said...

The worst part, Hughman, is the staring eyes of judgment. She's really into staring me down.