In case you're wondering, I haven't let my inner 14yr old skater dude off his leash. I'm just feeling a little like I live in the ghetto at the moment, and so I'm trying to set the mood for today's post accordingly, word.
Last Sunday I excelled on the parenting front for the second Sunday in a row.
Second Sunday in a row people.
Thank you, thank you, please keep the applause and cheering to a dull roar.
Even Super Nanny offered me a fist bump for my awesome parenting
In return for my unusual display of awesome parenting, the universe flipped me the bird.
We got home from exercising and bonding with the kids, having spent a couple of hours at the pool with them, to find our kitchen window screen pushed in.
Dumbass, AKA #1Hubby, simply put it all back together, thinking nothing of it. Thereby removing any viable fingerprint potential. FFS!?
To be fair, neither of us realised or even considered we could've been broken into. And who could blame us. We live in a retiree suburb, home of tight perms and sharply creased, kidney hugging beige slacks. There is never a time when at least one neighbor on each side of the road isn't peering through their lace curtains, taking note of the comings and goings.
Except for last Sunday, when they were all too busy gardening and cleaning the tyres of their little sedans to notice our house being broken into, FFS!?
As it turns out, we disturbed the low life, who only had a chance to grab my mobile phone, and shut my laptop, but thankfully not take it, before jumping the back fence.
Totally at the top of my suspect list, since I seem to see this dude regularly. Like every time I take the kids out for a nutritious meal.
My mobile phone. Keeper of my everything. Maintainer of my entire life schedule and functionality. Taker of many "in the moment" family happy snaps. Oh. Dear. God. All those pics of The Feral Threesome, gone. FFS!?
All while #1Pop and #1Brother sat outside #1Brother's place in front of mine, facing the driveway and front entrance to my place. FFS!?
To our surprise, the police sent out a Forensic officer, despite only a mobile phone being taken. Cue #1Hubby's puppy dog eyes.
This is the guy who can watch Gisele parenting expert Bundchen strut the catwalk in a bikini, and comment with "I don't get what everyone sees in her?" - and mean it. It is not just a ploy for sex.
The is the guy who can watch me come downstairs first thing in the morning, decidedly cave womanesque, and comment with "Good morning, gorgeous!" before slapping me on the rear. Possibly a ploy for sex.
So while a supermodel doesn't garner his interest in the slightest, enter a blonde in baggy, navy blue drill cotton Police jumpsuit...and he's off with the fairies, following her around like a little boy. FFS!?
I couldn't get a word in, words required for insurance purposes. Words required for my own peace of mind. Because #1Hubby was gushing like a total twat, regaling the poor woman with tales of when he tried out for the police force and broke the physical training course record. Something I have never verified (the breaking of the record), but I let him claim it for his manliness and blokey wellbeing.
As the Forensic goddess in blue finished up and left, sweating up a storm in the hellish Summer weather, puffing and panting her way down the driveway, I considered putting a leash on #1Hubby to stop him bounding after her. FFS!?
I also wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't stand at the door and yap away at her as she drove off, straining to chase after her car. FFS!?
I also told him there wasn't a chance in hell of sex for a lengthy period of time. Not until I could be certain he wouldn't be picturing the Forensic goddess in my place. FFS!?
His protestations were few and far between, and pitifully half-hearted. FFS!?
Thanks to my mobile phone being stolen, I've been relegated to an archaic old spare that we had in the freaking toy room (yes, so old the kids have been sucking on it when not phoning Elmo). FFS!?
When not strutting around like a homey living in the hood, I have been taking solace from one single fact....
My beloved mobile phone was a mere 6 months old. While it was not an iPhone, it was a Samsung Galaxy...which one could possibly mistake for an iPhone if they were in a panicked rush and grabbing for anything they could carry while pole vaulting over the back fence.
If you were quite likely strung out and jonesing for a fix, desperate to flee the scene of the crime, there is every chance you too could mistake the iPhone for the Samsung.
So, to the ass wipe who broke into my house :
Get a job you low life tosser. Earn your toys and substances of choice the way the rest of us do. And good luck trying to get more than $40 for my not-an-iPhone, you moron. May karma serve you up a nasty and recurring case of every STD known to man, plus a few itchy and incurable new ones not yet discovered.
My friend Justin also says heyyyy, and offered you the one finger salute
Now I'm off to negotiate early removal of the no-sex ban in return for a new mobile phone. One with a camera and wifi capabilities, manufactured in the last decade, that weighs less than my coffee machine. I'm not entirely sure it's worth it, between you and me.
