Sign This Petition to Ban Miniature Cotton Balls……………

16487424_1794527790561184_4728924737867663572_oSometimes I have to laugh at myself.  I have absolutely not one iota of patience, and quite frankly, enforce a very strict Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy.  I don’t like waiting,  I sigh in exaggerated frustration if my cat doesn’t get out of my way in, like, 30 seconds.  Part of the explanation for this endearing quality is my Irish temperament.  But the other, perhaps more important factor is that I am an Elkins.

The Elkins family has a love/hate relationship with inanimate objects.  Doors that don’t close the first time, eenie weenie pieces of paper that you pick up (and drop) for the eightieth time, any household object we hurt ourselves on, (I once stood and slammed a cupboard door for a straight five minutes because I hit my head on it) the dog’s toy that makes you fall head first down the stairs………you name it, we have murdered it.

It’s hard to explain, but you know I’m gonna try.  Impatience is at the root, but so is the notion that the chair, ceiling fan, minute amounts of dirt that won’t go willingly…all of these things purposefully, and with great malice have aggravated us to within a hair’s width  from committing Hare Kari.  Full blown temper tantrums have been known to occur, not just at the Hoffman Ranch either.  My sister once broke a cupboard door because she couldn’t fit the frying pan in.  I myself have wished I had a camera crew to film my hysterics, and I believe the Channel 8 News team was on their way the day I screamed like a woman gone mad because my water bucket had a hole in it.  I took care of that.  I beat it against the garage door frame.  I kicked it, not once, but at least 100 times.  I made sure that stinking water bucket knew it’s place in the world, and that I, not the bucket, was in charge of my life.

A few years back my brother, in a mad dash to clean the house before his wife came home, stood there, being beaten half unconscious-all the while not knowing that the ceiling fan was behind the massacre.  I can only imagine, laugh out loud, what he put the pesky air distributor through after he cleaned up the blood.

I was in the hospital with a broken leg years ago.  My brother and sister had come from Philadelphia to visit with me prior to surgery.  I will never forget this for as long as I live.  Courtney was standing in front of my bed when from out of the metal cabinet/closet came a metal iv holder, hitting her right on the head.  Our family also has a penchant for laughing at the misfortune of others.  It was a good few minutes that my brother and I held our collective breath;  I was afraid a nurse would walk in at that minute and become a hapless victim, ignorant of the fact that my sister was about to shove that monstrosity up someone’s ass, and it was probably going to be her.

I could go on and on about the number of necessary and helpful objects that  I have mutilated in my day.  But what I really want to say is that I loathe miniature cotton balls.  It’s not as if I have all day to take my nail polish off, I mean come ON…….oh the humanity!  And I’m not going to tell you how I put them to a grisly death just hours before.  No cotton ball worth it’s salt will try to mess with this sister again.  Believe it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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