Back in the good-old-days, before perked coffee, when job interviews were plentiful, and even in my teens, I was always very good at pre-planning for any situation I might encounter. I’m sure you do this too! You imagine, what if he says this to my question? What will I counter punch with? It’s a scenario of the entire event you race through your mind, so you are better equipped to sway matters more in your favor… You know?
Well it’s a lot different now bub! Now that I’m 63, incontinent (I pee early), on disability for depression, mega yo yo bi-polar, (but it’s really for my back, which everybody lies about, and so much harder to get, than the chance you’re a nut-bar let loose on unsuspecting civilians), and completely involved in things I need to do to occupy my time: Watching cars go by, watching paint dry, following a bug to see where it lives, and other educational pursuits… Yet inevitably, I’m going to have to go to the bathroom!
Here I am a major germophobe, and no matter how much I clean it, the bathroom always looks like a defective paint-bomb went off in there! Anyway, Tim (Leslie’s Nephew), he used to weigh 650 lbs. So now he’s thin, but he’s also anorexic; he brings his food up after he eats it, usually 5 times a day! I can hear him, and it’s really gross when I’m trying to eat! So I blast the TV, and everyone thinks I’m going deaf! My hearing is good enough to eavesdrop! And I hear some things!
Anyway, just a few nights ago, I let the cat in at 4 am., as usual, and I went to go pee pee, and Tim had barfed on the floor, and suddenly I was sliding across the bathroom floor, like I was suddenly trying to keep my balance on a skate board or something! I was still tired in my head, (actually, it was a fun ride…) so instead of cleaning my feet, I assumed someone had a bath and it was just water…
I couldn’t drift off though, because I began to smell this putrid oder like barf! And that’s exactly what it was! So there I was at 4 am., washing my feet in the perpetually dirty bathtub, scrubbing the sheet bottom, and spraying it with Lysol… Leslie woke up and said: ‘What the %!*$ are you doing??’ I said: ‘Just looking for predators, protecting our humble home! Go back to sleep…’
It’s a nightmare! I’m in a living nightmare! There are fruit flies that live on Tim’s toothbrush! I’m the only person I know, who at 63, avoids bran flakes! Now I sit on the thrown with fear and dread, AND I’M SUPPOSED TO BE KING!! Is there nothing that can stop this onslot of highly infectious slime and filth? I want my Mummy! Stupid dangling paragraph :O(