Warning: if you tend toward the queasy, you may want to stop here and go look at photos of kittens on Facebook.
Oh, you’re sticking around? Okay, then.
There is a certain sort of madness that comes in the wake of a storm. Particularly a storm with the gentle misnomer of Sandy. And while we remain grateful that our situation is not worse and we understand that so many others are dealing with so much more, I gotta say, it’s been pretty PsychoBatGuano.
We were leaping with glee three days ago when we finally got a new hot water heater, because we’ve been showering at my gym for two weeks and they’re getting tired of seeing us come in all sweaty and dirty with non-exercise, unpaid-for sweat and dirt. Oh, the glories of a home shower–the warmth! The water pressure! The respite from our freezing cold house ’cause we still don’t have heat ’cause our furnace still isn’t working ’cause the parts are back-ordered ’cause everyone in our town needs parts for their furnaces!
Except when we went to take a shower last night, we had no hot water again. Because PSE&G came by while we were at church and turned off our gas.
Did you catch that phrase “while we were at church”? Seriously, PSE&G, how unspiritual can you get?
They did leave us a note, however. Which basically said, “Howdy folks! Listen, until your city officials can inspect your gas lines, we’re just going to make sure you don’t sue us if your house blows up due to Sandy damage, so we’re going to turn off your gas so that you can no longer shower, cook, wash your clothes, dry your clothes, or stay warm. Oh, you don’t have a furnace anyway? Well, heck, then this isn’t a major inconvenience!”
Except, you know, it is. Especially since my kids really really needed a shower in order to attend school and not come home with nicknames like Stinky McStinkerson and Little Miss Smellsalot. Due to our sporadic showering and dubious laundering, my spawn were already on the verge of pungency and this might just push them over the edge. Not to mention the funk that was the inevitable outcome of all six of us sleeping in one room every night, the room with the space heater.
Yes, six. Including the pugs, of course.
Do you recall that certain madness I spoke of, the kind that comes after a storm? Only that madness could lead to my husband sleeping on couch cushions on the floor while I sleep in a bed with both my children, a snoring young pug, and a snoring, flatulent, geriatric pug that struggles with fecal incontinence.
I awoke this morning with this thought in my head: “I hope my children aren’t too smelly at school today.”
My second thought was: “I think they’re going to be very smelly at school today. Because I’m pretty sure that horrible smell I’m smelling is from my pug pooping in the bed. Which means that my children are probably rolling in it.”
My third thought was: “Well, I think we’re okay, because I’m pretty sure that sound is my other pug eating the poop.”
My fourth thought was: “Jesus? I’m ready. Beam me up.”
But, you know, just in case he doesn’t, would any of you like to come to Hoboken and rescue me? Um… bring Lysol.