Stirring the pot.

The power balance, female hormone edition, has been all out of whack since last weeks episode of Girly Prize Fighter. It seemed to be improving and then because someone crossed a boundary and put a tv remote on a bed, all hell broke loose. *gasp* Why do these thing always happen when I have someplace to be? I mean, I’ve survived until 10pm and I just want to go to sleep in my bed. Quietly. In hopes to give the few brains cells that I have left fully functioning a few hours to recharge. Such is life I guess. 

Chatty Cathy is convinced, as of today, that Daytime Emmy Nominee has turned Sassy Britches against her. Why? Because “as a joke” Chatty Cathy placed the tv remote in Daytime Emmy Nominees bed. (If WTH just popped into your head, you are not alone.) Daytime Emmy Nominees reportedly put it in Sassy Britches bed. I’m turn, Sassy Britches tosses it back on Chatty Cathy’s bed. Chatty Cathy says she then tossed it on the floor at which point the other two female terrorists in her life, “screamed at her.” (Have you come back around the the WTH thought again? Yeah. Me too.) Chatty Cathy tells me her tale of woe while in tears, and her body splattered dramatically across my bed. 

I don’t process tears well. I have plenty of strong traits. Emotions and displaying the delicate reactions they require, are absolutely not part of my skill set. So there she lay, making little drips onto the bed, while I’m at a loss for why this is even something we are discussing. Let alone how this made it to a level that required tears. In that moment I could her my Father, “You want something to cry about? Oh, I’ll give you something to cry about!” Then, I came to my senses and realized that probably wasn’t the way to go here.  Frankly I’m not sure there is a time that calls for that type of commentary, which is likely why he was never accused of being Father of the Year. Anyway, no matter what I said, there was no persuading Chatty Cathy that this game with the remote wasn’t some type of mortal sin. I said, “We are going to have to agree to disagree here. I think maybe you are stirring the pot just a wee bit.” She tried something fierce to sleep in my bed. Ummm. No. Then on my couch in my room. Also no. Etc. Etc. No. No. Finally I sternly say her name and send her to bed. Over, right? Of course not. 

She apparently found my directions confusing and ended up in someone else’s bedroom. I reminded her that it was time to be in our own beds for the night and prepare for a new day and school tomorrow. After repeating myself, explaining why she needed to be in her own room, and more sobbing, she reluctantly ended up in her bed. At which point she chucked the remote across the room and into the wall, splitting it in two. Sure kid, I don’t mind. Let me just go pick that up for you. 

I figure while I’m in there I should probably make sure the beds are clear of food and check for more of those pesky remotes. I mean I’m already up past my bedtime anyway, why not make the most of this time? I look up in Sassy Britches bed and what’s there, a “trap phone”, of course laying next to another remote. If you don’t know, go google trap phone. (It has been said that you learn something new everyday. You’re welcome.)

With various pieces of remotes and a phone in my hand, I knock on the bathroom door. Sassy Britches has just gotten herself out of the shower, and asks what I need. I said, “Oh, I have the phone you left in your bed. Goodnight.” The only response, “ok.”

And now, finally, my bed.