“It’s Joe the Plumber. I’ve Come to Fix the Sink.”

I love the fact that my kids have graduated to that stage where they can (and will) venture outside to blow the stink off them. Without me. Hence, I can vegetate here, blissfully tapping away at the keyboard, poised to share all the meaningless drivel I can possibly generate. And I will…I promise, all the while watching my dear heathens cavort and climb and twirl and whatever else it is that kids do to entertain themselves in the great outdoors—to include “squishing only the bad bugs, Mom.”

So now to the task of sharing meaningless drivel. Perhaps I should tell you about my most recent (and mildly immobilizing) preoccupation—that of being utterly convinced that the plumbers “…who came to fix the sink” (neither of whom was named Joe, incidentally) had every opportunity to rig up one of those hidden camera gizmos in our shower. Geez Louise, they trudged up and down our staircase and into and out of our master bath at least 60 bazillion times! Unsupervised! What in God’s name was I thinking?!!

Logically it follows that they did, in fact, install something sinister. Something unspeakably evil. Something horribly intrusive. The whole thing just creeps me out—in a Sharon Stone Sliver sort of way.

Of course, this proves I am completely insane (never mind riddled with paranoia), which makes perfect sense. Because this is how my mind works. Or doesn’t. I get something entirely absurd (like said bit of ridiculousness) wedged in my pea brain and I simply cannot let it go. I’m shampooing and lathering and warbling (at best) some silly ass song while in the shower—the one that those wonderful plumbers so expertly repaired—while secretly wondering, “How do I look? Is this stupid thing recording in color or Psycho inspired black and white? Have the idiots been kind enough to put tape over my eyes and make it look as if I’ve shaved my legs in the last century? Sweet Jesus, I hope so.”

Paranoia is a strange and crippling thing, methinks. Perhaps I need shower therapy.

But I won’t be calling the plumber.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live (not so lucid at times).

Copyright 2010 Melinda L. Wentzel

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