I Flooded My Kitchen This Morning!

Warning!  The following post has been ghost-written.  If it seems different than my regular posts… that’s because it is.  Listen people!  I don’t have time to write my blog!  I’m too busy deep fat frying hotdogs for the internet!

Enjoy!

This photo has nothing to do with this post.  I’m just putting it here because I am a dumbass.

In anticipation of the arrival of the Horvatzcruxeswhositwhateves, I have spent the past two weeks cleaning out the upstairs!   I have thrown out old, torn, stained clothes that budget readers have sent my girls (please stop doing that people!  Ick!), taken good, outgrown clothes bought online at Anthropologie and J. Crew to the Goodwill, and gotten rid of toy pieces that have long since lost their mates.

It’s been tough!  Exhausting!  There were no camera crews for my cleaning extravaganza, and no breaks for home-made corn dogs.  I know!

So the crew (remodeling crew, not camera crew) was set to arrive this morning.  I got up extra early to make sure my illegals had finished the extra loads of laundry I told them to start before I went to bed last night and to neatly fold all the new bath towels, which it turns out they didn’t, which I planned to arrange in the cabinet under the upstairs bathroom sink.  Isn’t my life so much more fascinating than yours?

But I felt hungry.  Violently hungry!  I knew that I had a couple of minutes to whip up a batch of my famous scrambled eggs with extra butter and bacon bits and a handful of basil before the crew arrived.

It.  Was.  Delicious.  (The printable version will be in my Food Section tomorrow.  Keep clicking back to guess when I post it!)

The crew was over thirty minutes late at this point when I remembered that I’d left some dishes in the sink. I’d just finished getting dressed and was wearing my favorite outfit.  And sheer pink lip gloss and a slight orange glow, but that’s the self-tanner’s fault, not mine. I think Neutrogena upped their concentration. Either that or I scrubbed way, way too hard. I went to the sink and saw that the dishes had a little bit of egg yolk on them, which had hardened and solidified and petrified into an industrial-strength adhesive (note to self:  Call the Wal-Marts about a product placement idea involving eggs and glue as an industrial-strength adhesive.  Working name:  PW Egg Glue).  There were no illegals in sight, so I was forced to wash the dishes myself.  I plugged up the sink, turned on the hot water, squirted in a nice dose of Joy liquid provided by my favorite corporate sponsor, and began filling up the sink so the dishes could soak.

My Food Network-friendly sink is a big farmhouse number, so I knew it would take hours to fill up.  So I ran upstairs to light a gardenia candle purchased at the hotel gift shop when I was on my last book tour in New York just in case my nose is so used to any strange odors that might live upstairs that it doesn’t smell the strange odors that might not exist, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  (I hate strange odors!  Violently!  And I love gardenias!  And New York!  And hotels!  And hotels in New York that smell like gardenias!)

When I got upstairs, I got sidetracked by my own reflection in the hall mirror.  I usually hate the way I look because my eyes can be puffy and the Botox looks a little plastic-y from time to time … but not today!  Today I looked magnificent!

Wait no… not this one!

Dammit!

No!

Not this one!

Here we go!

That’s me!

At my most dewiest!

My hair was the color of a perfect copper penny (Clairol #729 for my budget readers), my eyes looked like sparkly prisms of ocean waves being caressed in the summer light, my skin radiated like rose petals lying on a sandy beach.  And like I said before, I was wearing my favorite outfit.

I stood there for a good fifteen minutes.

Then my personal happy time was violently interrupted by Mountain Man walking halfway up the stairs behind me.

“Ree, could you come down here for just a second?” my beloved implored.

“No,” I answered. “Thank you for asking, though!” I just love saying that.

“Uh, Honey?” he repeated. “Could you come down here for a sec?”

I wanted him to come upstairs and see how perfect I looked, and to bring my camera.

Instead, he said, “I think you flooded the whole house with your Food Network sink.”

It was true.  It was Biblical.  My kitchen was flooded. My kitchen was the Dead Sea, minus the salinity and plus brand new hardwood floors.  Apparently, I had never returned to the kitchen sink to do the dishes.

I had no choice but to dart upstairs, retrieve my perfect towels that were still in the Macy’s bag with the tags attached because my illegals had not done any laundry but had instead gone home early, and use the new towels to mop up the deluge that surrounded me.

I cried.  I cried abundant tears that only added to the flood.

But good news, Marlboro Man found my camera!

My life is SO HARD!!!

Link to the world’s dumbest blogger’s stupidest post ever…