Clarence Carter be strokin’.

Taking the bitch hand out for a spin

I am my Mother’s daughter, and I have a bad temper.  I’m also my Father’s daughter, and it takes a LOT for me to reach the point where I would lose my cool.   As a result, I’m generally a laid back person,  but my eyes turn red once I reach a certain point.   Sadly for a select few, I am at that point.

This is about the kitchen.   The disgusting kitchen with the greasy, cheese-topped hamburger patty that’s been sitting  on the counter top for a day and a half.   And the hotdogs that have been there so long that the paper plate is soaked in grease and sticking to the counter and falling apart.  And the greasy frying pan that’s been sitting on the stove for three days.  And the curdled bowl of cereal that’s been sitting on the counter for two.  I could go on, but you get the point.   I won’t even mention that there isn’t a clean dish in the house besides the one I use and wash and reuse.    None of this mess is mine.

I share this space with my sister and brother-in-law.   I don’t cook for them and they don’t cook for me.   That kitchen should be the cleanest room in the house because it’s a shared space between three adults, but it’s always a disaster.  I bite my tongue about this area a lot for a few reasons, but mainly because I don’t want to be the bitch of the house that goes around shouting out orders and complaints.   Sometimes when I think I’m going to lose it, I wake up the next morning to a clean kitchen because someone scrubbed in the middle of the night, so at first I thought this was a result of occasional laziness that we all get from time to time, but that is not the case.   I have HAD it.

I confronted the two of them about the kitchen and might have dropped a couple f-bombs in the delivery and they looked at me like, geez, what crawled up your butt?    What crawled up my butt?  Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it was the leftover McNugget that grew hair and legs while it sat in the kitchen for a week.   I am not being unreasonable and being treated like I am makes me even more irate.   I’m not asking them to clean their bedroom or make their bed.

So here’s the deal.  If the kitchen isn’t clean by 7 o’clock tonight, I’m going to take every fucking dish and pan in this house and throw it in the trash.  And I’m going to throw out everything in the refridgerator and stock it full of  microwave dinners.  And if the kitchen can’t stay clean after that, I’m going to take one of the stun guns my Aunt left me and shove it up two asses.   I think that’s fair.