Bad-Talking

A while back, when Tom and I pulled the washer away from the wall so we could check the water hoses, I was horrified at what I saw. The hoses were fine but the floor was covered with nasty, filthy grime and grunge. Tom was happy to see there were no repairs needed but I was horrified and bad-talking to myself. "Oh, my goodness, Carol Louise. You are disgusting! You are a terrible housekeeper. Shame! Shame on you! That's not all I said to myself as I was brutally beating me up, but I can't use those words here because my granddaughter is going to read this some day.

One day last week, I stepped out onto our deck--a deck we (I) never, ever use--and was appalled. Dust, cobwebs, bird do-do and dirt everywhere. It wasn't long before the bad-talking kicked in. "Are you serious? You let this deck get this bad? What is wrong with you? You are a terrible housekeeper. Shame! Shame on you!" 

While I was cleaning the deck and berating myself for being such a lousy housekeeper, the thought occurred to me...does Tom feel shame when he sees grime behind the dryer or bird do-do on the deck? So I asked him. "Do you feel shame when you see grime behind the dryer or bird do-do on the deck?" He looked at me as if I had said, "Are you an alien from the planet 'Kolinoscopeepee'?" My question did not make any sense to him. "Well, of course not," he said. "Why would I feel shame?" Good question. Why would he feel shame? I know the answer and I'm going to tell you it right now.

V.A.G.I.N.A...he doesn't have one.