Dave In The Cave Dislikes Mowing And Making Dinner

This is a ramble. A non stop mind purge about domestic stuff that needs to get done but Good Gosh what a hassle. I wanna lay around on the couch and cruise the cathode rays till the bed calls but NOOOOO.

Yes. I hate this stuff. Yes, I admit I put off mowing the lawn until the grass got ridiculously high. And, yes, I admit that we discovered where the exercycle went after the grass was cut. Actually that thing has been floating around our back yard for years. Cos I'm part redneck and that's in our genes, the leaving of large pieces of random equipment in our yards. You know how hard it is to haul an exercycle al the way to the curb? Can't even get rid of it the normal way, by tossing it surreptitiously in the dead of night in our neighbor's yard. Cos that would make a lot of noise, Another thing I hate about mowing the freaking lawn is gas container. We can't find the cap and the container has tipped over a number of times in my car. So the inside of my vehicle on mowing day smells like my Uncle Earl who worked at the Sunoco and I don't dare use my cell phone for fear of going up in a sudden ball of flame. Also my lawnmower shakes like an old man at a strip club and stops whenever any grass over one inch hits it's blade. I hate you lawnmower.

And once that's done, does daddy get a round of applause, some kind of break, sex of some sort? Nope. I get "What's for dinner" from every member of the household, and pleasing looks of Feed Me Or I Will Surely Perish from the three dogs and that stupid cat. Wait the wife's on the phone. "I'll be late and what's for dinner." A guy cannot catch a break. Oh what, it's the end of the month and that means we're broke and there will be no ordering out? Fine. TUNA SANDWICHES FOR EVERYBODY. Oh no, that means I have to deal with the satanic can opener my wife saddles me with. The one I tried to replace with one from the store, and then the new can openers kept mysteriously vanishing, leaving me with Evil Incarnate. Maybe this time it will be different, maybe this time-

After a nice family dinner of that Germanic favorite Überreste aus der Rückseite des Kühlschranks, it's time to face another arduous monster:

Cups at the top, right? Alternate big and small cups? By color? Plastic then glass? I know the cups go open end down. Plates on the top, little ones? All plates on the bottom? In straight rows? Big ones in back? No steak knives? Forks pointed down so I don't impale my thumbs? Just shove everything in here and pray for deliverance? And I've have to wash everything before I put it in? Then why not just ARRRGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHG!

I give up. I'm gonna go sit on the couch and stare at the television and Mariska Hagertay until my eyeballs fall out. Oh, yeah. Everything else I need to do can wait. Yup. Wow this rug is dirty. And what's with all these baskets of clean clothes? Oh, $%$#@.