Gas Boobs

Gracious. I just get more irreverant as the days go on. And on a Sunday afternoon, too!

Well. It's like this:

This week, Alan's Fairy Tale Dream came true. No, not the one where he gets-to-be-a-House-Hubbers-and-lay-on-the-couch-and-watch-ESPN-all-day-while-scarfing-Hot-Fries (as in that nasty chip-kind of snack. THOSE Hot Fries). No, this was the dream where he becomes the proud owner of a Supersonic, Jet-Powered, Testosterone-Laden Leaf Blower. Yeah. I'm all until it starts cleaning the bathroom and getting on the treadmill for me BIG WHOOP. But fortunately, my hubbers is a little more easily enamored with the treasures of this world. Me? Well, I'm just thankful to have joined the Land of the 21st Century this week with my new ipod (GREEN!).

ANYWAY, Alan decided to give the S, J-P, T-L Leaf Blower (what? you expected me to type all of that again??) a whirl yesterday morning before taking it over to the 'rents (mine) for Dollar Work Day for the tots. You know, the day where Gampy comes up with some "work" for the kiddos to do to earn some dollars [Side note: I did NOT have "Dollar Work Day" growing up. It was all "do the dishes, Cinderelly, sweep the ashes, Cinderelly." Clearly, I remain unscarred from this and am able to be a compassionate, forgiving, functional adult now. Aren't you glad?]. So, in preparation for this event, Alan filled the S, J-P, T-L Leaf Blower with gas, all the while extolling the virtues of the four-cycle vs. two-cycle lawn tool. Extolling to such an extent, in fact, that he spills some gas on our front porch. Being the neat and orderly kind of guy that he is (ACK! Lightening strike!), he took one of my dust cloths to wipe up the mess. And then, tidy soul, he put the cloth in the washing machine.

Now, from that point on, our house smelled like gasoline. Which, I have to say, is probably better than what it has smelled like at certain times before, but still. Whew. So, mid-afternoon, I yank up our windows (I have windows that can be YANKED UP! Woo hoo!) to let in a little fresh, warm air, not knowing that the cloth in the washing machine is actually the smelly culprit. Which means that my open windows are of no help. Hours later, the house still reeks of gasoline.

So, being the wild and crazy gal that I am, I usually wash my gentle cycle load on Saturday nights (livin' high at the Casey house, indeed). Which included, well, some unmentionables (only, I guess I kind of AM mentioning them here) that I planned to wear Sunday morning. Do you see where I am going with this? Not realizing that the cloth in the machine is causing the S.T.I.N.K., I wash all of that together. And so, this morning, when I go to get dressed for church, I realize that it's either wear a sports bra or have a little extra fragrance that my favorite perfume (buy me! buy me! buy me!) just does not override.

Sigh. So, if you've been seeing Alan sniff towards my chest today...well, it's not that we're that kind of couple. We're just brainstorming how to take full advantage of the situation...like, is it possible to wring out a bra into your gas tank?