No – Really – Where’s My Electric Shaver?

I’ve hit the roughest stretch of the school year. I’ve got my usual course work to grade and the added responsibility of pumping out college recommendations. Also, I’ll be on the Encounter Retreat this weekend so time is going to be at a premium. Now, I know, I should probably be grading or writing non-blog stuff right now, but this is the break I am going to allow myself. I’ve been talking about poetry all day, writing recommendations during my free periods, and mixing in a little Bejeweled. The downside is that I haven’t had the down time to over-think anything that would eventually become an entry here. So you’re in for a treat. I’m going to challenge myself by trying to make my home life as compelling as possible.

The essentials. Contrary to popular belief, it takes a lot of work for Lynnette to find me attractive.

The biggest domestic mystery I am faced with is the disappearance of the charger for my electric razor. I can’t even remember the last time I used it because I had been running it on a full charge. When it stopped mid-shave last week I checked the bin near my sink. Then I checked under my sink. “Have you seen my razor charger?” I asked Lynnette. Before answering me with English words, she let out a sound which is best described as the offspring of a groan and a sigh, and can likely be loosely translated as “Are you f*cking kidding me?” before saying “No, why would I touch that?”

In the meantime, I’ve had to shave with the old fashioned shave gel and this really horrible disposable razor. It only has two blades! This is an outrage! I had long forgotten the thrill of cutting my face open then affixing toilet paper to the wound. Good times. Well, about twenty minutes ago when I went looking for my electric razor so I could take a picture of it (for this entry), I couldn’t find that either. Logic dictates that I’ll find the charger in two days, and then spend another week looking for the razor. I know what I have to do. Because God’s sense of humor is based entirely on irony, all I have to do is go to Costco and spend $50 on a new razor and blades, then both of my missing items will show up.

I likely misplaced the razor as I did the charger. That sounds exactly like something I’d do. But there is that other possibility. Some malevolent entity has been entering my home without my knowledge and taking small items in the attempt to drive me insane. Do your job, Abby!

In mortgaged adulthood, these count as extravagances.

Lynnette finally got her desk drawer organizer for under $4 yesterday at Fisher Hawaii. I splurged a little by picking up a bunch of my favorite pens in every color they make. So, yeah, just the black, red, and blue. So many years ago this would have been pictures of the same shoe in various colorways, but you know what they say about adulthood: it sucks.

But the Uni-ball Jetstream 1.0 is my favorite pen, and since I write so much I could justify purchasing a handful of them to use for work. In a classroom far away from here there rests a stack of English Honors essays that are going to get marauded by these bad boys.

A few years ago, I semi-ironically referred to myself as the “Lord of Literature” in an attempt to teach my class about epithets and alliteration in a single swoop (were were covering Beowulf). Okay, I do it every year, but it’s stuck. Some of my clever students refer to me as the Lord of Literature, my chair as my throne, and themselves as my minions. What kind of jackass buys into this kind of hype? Well, let’s see, the kind of guy that looks at boxes of Uni-ball Jetstream 1.0s sitting on the shelf of Fisher Hawaii, mulls over spending that kind of money on a pen, then mutters to himself “What is a Lord of Literature without his…pens?”

Flank steak marinated in Korean BBQ sauce with garlic. Again, I’ve offered myself as the dessert dish, but um, I guess I’m not creme brulee. You better be careful, Lynnette, you might lose me.

As I sit in the computer room hammering this out (I say that phrase roughly 700 times a day and apply to any situation which involves even the tiniest of processes. I don’t know why.), I can smell Lynnette’s handiwork in the kitchen. She’s making dinner (left) and I will do the dishes. That’s kind of how we roll in the house. The person who preps and cooks is relieved of dish duty for the night. There are those rare occasions where either Lynnette or I can see in the other that it’s been a long day, and we offer to do both. It’s one of those things I love about being in love with the same person for such a long time. Sometimes she can just look at me and know that I’ve had a full slate of teaching and grading and sitting in traffic and I just want to consume food and turn everything off. Conversely, when Lynnette wears the haggard look of a woman who has spent her day dealing with elementary school kids trying to cry their way out of flu shots, I don’t mind doing double duty. There shall come a day when Madison is capable of making dinner and/or doing the dishes. There shall be great rejoicing.

You have the numbers, roaches, we’ve got the advanced technology. Your move.

The other conflict going on in our house can be classified as man vs. nature. Two nights ago I wandered out into the living room and turned on the light. There were roaches all over the place. It wasn’t like horror-movie “all over the place,” but still enough to piss me off.

It was jarring because our house is generally clean. No, it’s not Karen-Higa-this-house-is-so-clean-there-are-virtually-no-signs-of-life clean, but it doesn’t qualify for an episode of Hoarders, either. Not close. I guess that’s what was so jarring. I had literally never seen anything like this before. I saw the first two near Abby’s water dish and said “…the hell?” Then I saw something move on the kitchen table an said “What the hell?” I moved to the island to get paper towels to eradicate them and I saw two tiny ones scurry away from the towel stand and said “WHAT THE HELL?!” I couldn’t kill them all. I did the one thing that I would never wish no one would ever do to me. I told Lynnette on them.

We spent the next five minutes constructing roach motels in the kitchen as the roaches watched us, unwittingly witness to the harbinger of their own doom. As I folded, opened, peeled, and stuck, I uttered things like “You guys are going to get it…” and “You guys have no idea what’s in store for you guys…” and “Hey, guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuys! I got some tasty treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeats!” When we woke yesterday morning, the traps were full of greedy roaches. They were empty this morning. I am not taking this victory for granted. The thing about roaches is there are always more of them. I imagine that they’re huddled together under my kitchen sink or some other similar dark cranny of my home going over the schematics for the roach traps. Prior to their discussion, the leader of the roach resistance will say something like “Many roaches died to bring us this information,” in a really ominous tone. Yes, I just went there. By the way, your first instinct is correct, I am exactly the kind of guy who got added glee from looking at the frozen roach carapaces, trying to imagine the first to fall victim shouting “IT’S A TRAP!” in some roach dialect, only to have all his buddies completely ignore him. Teehee.

Here’s Abby sunbathing herself and not warding off malicious electric razor-stealing entities.

I just finished dinner and it was delicious. I packed a bunch of the leftovers into a Tupperware for lunch tomorrow. I will bring said Tupperware to school, eat its contents at lunch, then bring the empty container to my classroom where I will forget to bring it home for roughly two days. Somethings you just know. Anyway, if someone were to ask me how dinner was tonight, I would reply “What a dinner, what a dinner, what a dinner, what a mighty good dinner (what a mighty, mighty good dinner).” It really was. In a few moments after I quit this incessant rambling, I will move to the kitchen and wash the dishes. I will put headphones in and listen to a Bill Simmons podcast while doing so. This makes time pass so much more quickly.

But now I am torn because I can see the rest of my week unfold in my imaginings and I see a lot of work to be done, which might require a late night which would then mean only one night this week with my family (excluding tonight), since I leave for the Encounter on Friday night. And while I would to simply press play on the usual pleas for a grading machine or the ability to clone myself, or the time stopper thing that Hermione had in Harry Potter, I feel like the best thing I can do is get off of this thing, wash those dishes, wish ill on those roaches, then huddle in my bed with my girls and watch some animated movie I have zero interest in all for the sake of I love them so so much.

Until tomorrow, then.


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