"I love you so mucks, Mama!"

Yes, that’s me you just saw. Driving by in your hot-ass cockmobile. Yeah, I’m putting the garbage out. And yeah, I’m wearing an apron and those elbow-length yellow gloves. You know why? Because they keep me from getting mucky. Yeah, muck. It’s what I do. Sweeping. Dishes. Toilets. Wiping noses. Mopping up messes. Scrubbing off crayon marks. Cleaning the fridge. One day you’ll have to do it too. Or you’ll have a wife that bitches to and about you because you DON’T do it.

Motherhood occupies some holy pedestal for so many Americans, in theory. Then why does the practice involve so much muck?

Cleaning the fridge is easy when you’re poor (tomorrow’s payday, and not a day too soon!). At least we have two full jars of pepperoncinis (WTF?). I just cooked the last fresh vegetable in the house for breakfast. For dinner, under duress, I have the ol’ brown-rice canned-beans canned-tomato plan up the sleeve – flavored with the old white-trash standby, Canola Oil.

Despite some hardships, today is a day where I am digging this housewife thing. So you, Mr. Hotass Car, can put that in your bong and smoke it.

np – Transatlanticism
Today’s playlist: Van Morrison, Anna Ranger

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