Go ahead, look in my archives of the almost 500 posts on this blog and you will see that I have never written a product review or endorsement before.

But I can’t keep this one to myself.

The new O-Cedar ProMist (which is their wallet-friendly and environmentally friendly version of a Swiffer Wet Jet) is AWESOME!

I used to have the Swiffer Wet Jet, and it cleans nicely and the smell of the cleaning solution is rather nice.  But, for me, that didn’t excuse the fact that I had to keep buying rather expensive pads AND cleaning solution.  Nevermind the astronomical waste this thing produced, it was expensive to use!  So when we bought this house, this house that has almost all hardwood or stone floors, I got rid of the Swiffer and bought one of those Libman Wonder Mops and was done with it.

I love that Libman Mop.  I’ve had it for two years and it has been put to hard work and washed many many times.  It is almost time for a replacement mop head, but it has served me well.  The thing is, with two small kids always underfoot, it’s not that easy to whip out a mop and bucket and try to make quick work of floor cleaning.  Because of that, my floors sometimes go a while before they are properly cleaned.  And I HATE that.  I get anxious and stressed when my house isn’t clean.

So, on a whim I bought this O-Cedar ProMist thing at Target and noticed that this thing was cheaper than a Swiffer Wet Jet starter kit.  Yeah.  Also, the cleaning pad is reusable and can be washed about 100 times.  The cleaning solution you take care of yourself.  I like Mr. Clean and when I saw that this little tiny tank only needed 2 teaspoons (TEASPOONS!!!) of the cleaning solution and the rest water, I was very happy.  That one little tank and 2 teaspoons of cleaning solution cleaned my family room, dining room, living room, two sets of stairs, a hallway, a small bathroom, and my bedroom floors.  2 teaspoons of cleaning liquid.

I wasn’t being thrifty with the cleaning liquid either.  I really sprayed the bejeezus out of my floors and it still went THAT far.

I had to share this because I was in total shock over how awesome this thing is.  And my floors are totally clean!  I think I paid $18 for this thing and I have to tell you I am sold on it.

The other great thing?  O-Cedar has no idea who I am.  Neither do the Libman Mop people.  I am doing this endorsement and review of my own volition.  I am not being paid to tell you this is a great product, I am telling you because I honestly believe it to be so.

Give it a try!

Let’s start with the avacado green dryer in the first place Jessie and I lived together. It incinerated our clothes. The thermostat on it was broken and it would heat up to surface-of-the-sun temperatures and literally melted and destroyed a lot of our clothes. Looking back on it, remembering the wilted and destroyed clothes, being burned and blistered by metal buttons and zippers is actually pretty hilarious. We were able to get the thing repaired and back in working order thankfully with the help of Jessie’s parents.

When we took over my mom’s house when she left to move in with her now husband, we discovered that the electrical work in that VERY old house was actually really scary and needed to be fixed. Somewhere in that endeavor, things got out of whack and the dryer stopped working because there wasn’t enough power going to it. Admittedly, this is not the fault of the dryer, but I still had to make a lot of trips to my in-laws and the laundromat to dry my clothes. Thank goodness we did not yet have children.

When we moved to Washington, our first apartment had a laundry closet containing a dryer that did not heat up. A quick call to maintenance and a later visit from a Whirlpool repair man eventually fixed the problem

When we left that small apartment and moved into the townhome in WA, guess what? That’s right, the dryer stopped working about a week after we moved in! This time, it took the maintenance crew and the Whirlpool repair man a bit longer to fix the problem but it did eventually get resolved.

Now to present day here in glorious Reading, PA. We bought this house containing a washer and dryer. While the washer works perfectly and simply had a cracked plastic knob, the timer on the dryer did not work and I had to manually turn off the dryer because it would just keep running. I put up with it being that way until the stupid thing stopped heating. Of course, this had to happen with two adults and two children who each go through more than one wardrobe change during the day. We called around and got estimates to have the thing repaired and were slightly horrified to find that the difference between the lowest and highest bids was quite sizable. If we bought a new dryer, it wasn’t going to be much more money than the highest bid to get the old one repaired. We got a new one.

Now I hold my breath every time I start this new dryer. I know it’s only a matter of time until the stupid thing dies on me too. What is it, do I have some sort of super power that scares dryers and they are so nervous being around me that they stop working?

No. I know what it is. I just figured it out. It’s the same thing that has the search terms to this site all messed up.

Every now and then, I will take my laundry downstairs in my pajamas and strip right then and there and throw the jammies in with the first load. The dryer saw my boobies. And before my children were born, I walked around my homes naked all the time. The dryers all saw my boobies. It was the boobies. That’s my super power.

Oh my God…..

Handsome devil, isn’t he?  I always told him that he had a great smile.  I still like to see him smile…and to have a natural looking color that doesn’t look like he is chugging spray-tanner.

We didn’t have a long relationship, only about 3 weeks.  It ended suddenly and amicably and I still smile fondly when thinking of our time together.  He was fun.

You’re waiting for a hook aren’t you?  You’re waiting for me to smile and elbow you in the ribs and tell you that I’m fucking with you, aren’t you?  Well I’m not going to.

I really did have a 3-week long relationship with Bradley Cooper.

Admittedly, he may have been unaware of it.

Okay, okay!  I’ll come clean.

It happened a couple of years ago.  My husband and I were still having our 5-year-long dry spell.  During these dry spells, I fall victim to very vivid sex dreams.  Every now and then an ex will come into my dreams and I’ll wake up very upset but usually it’s a no-face guy or some random actor or musician.  Then, for some completely weird reason, Bradley stepped up to plate.

I was only merely annoyed after the first night.  Even though he has qualities that I usually find attractive in men, I’m just not attracted to him.  At all.  Like, not even copious amounts of alcohol would make me feel attracted to him.  So, after one dream I simply had a “WTF” moment upon waking and forgot about it.

Until the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

For 3 weeks straight I dreamed dirty dreams about Bradley Cooper without a break.  Every morning I would wake up more and more annoyed.  After the first week I would have gladly had a sex dream about Yogi Bear, but there was no break.  After the second week I started griping to the husband about it.

“What do you want me to do about it?” He asked me.

“Well, you know, maybe if I were having sexual encounters in my awake life, I would be able to stop dreaming about Bradley Fucking Cooper!”  I replied.

The husband did not take the bait and another week of Bradley Cooper dream sex went on.

That was it, I had had enough.

I got the husband drunk (in those times, it was the easiest way to get him in any sort of mood…and how my jokes about me being a fugly were born) and did as most married couples do without such a to-do.  That night, Bradley didn’t come back.

He hasn’t been back since.

I wish all breakups were so uneventful.

Sorry Bradley, it wasn’t you. It was me.

Being a blogger, apparently I am only qualified to write a grocery list.  Well, what-the-fuck-ever on that one.  I’ve written almost 500 posts on this blog alone.  Let’s not forget that I am close to 100 posts on Smell My Plate and about 5 previous blogs that I deleted entirely before I settled on this incarnation.  I can write a hell of a lot more than a grocery list.  But you know what?  My grocery lists are delightful.  Magnificent, even.  If that makes me somehow not qualified to call myself a writer, then the world can kiss my ass.

Do you want to know why my grocery lists are wonderful?  TEMPLATES.  My friends all know I’m coo-coo for templates and I found a great template for my grocery lists.  This is my preferred template.  I love it.

While I am here, I might as well make use of my one and only use as a blogger and share with you my grocery list.  For SassyMonkey

Onions

Garlic

Celery

Potatoes

Apples

Leafy Greens

Tomatoes

Bell peppers

Shallots

Scallions

Cilantro

Butter

Milk

Coffee Creamer

American cheese

Parmesan cheese

Grating cheeses

Yogurt

Eggs

Pepperoni

Whole chickens

Bacon

Sausage

Pork chops

Ground beef

Hot dogs

Steaks

Stew meat

Applesauce

Peanut butter

Taco kits

Twix

Oreos

White Chocolate

Sugar

Confectioners’ sugar

Cocoa powder

Yeast

Honey

Brownie mix

Shortening

Oatmeal

Cream and Cocoa Wheats

Bread

Hamburger buns

Cereal

Dijon mustard

Coarse grain mustard

Dill

Parsley

Couscous

Egg noodles

Splenda packets

Popcorn salt

Kosher salt

Red wine vinegar

Powdered cappuccino

Coffee

Chai tea

Green tea

Soda

V8

Vitamins

Body wash

Body spray

Deodorant

Shampoo/Conditioner

Perfume

Toilet paper

Cat food

Cat litter

Baby formula

PediaSure

Dishwasher tabs

Laundry detergent

Garbage bags

Plastic wrap

Mr. Bubble

There, I have fulfilled my duty as a lowly blogger for today.  Just doing my job, folks.

The most popular search terms that lead people to this blog are always variations about my cleavage.  Pale cleavage, freckly cleavage, mom cleavage…that kind of thing.  And of all the things that I have written, of all the stories I have woven for my readers, the only post I have ever had syndicated showed pictures of my naked body.

Internet, I think you want me!

I find this perplexing since, on a global scale, I can be sort of a fugly.  I mean, when you compare me to an airbrushed super-skinny babe (and there are MANY on the internet) I don’t even register.  So I must ask, “Internet, what are you thinking??”

Ok, don’t answer that.  I don’t want to hear explanations of drunken nights and meth-induced trances brought on by my bright and shiny white skin.  Wait a minute, does my cleavage cause hallucinations?  If it does, Oh My God THAT IS AWESOME!  I shall have to find a way to make this a bankable commodity.

Welcome to the blog of the Amazingly Hypnotic Cleavage and the Blindingly Pale Stretch Marks!

T-shirts upon request.

Anyhow, I decided to give my kids a break and share with you the cuteness of my cats.  We used to have 4 but now there are three.  One of the kittens was just not really socializing with people and was being squeamish and acting like a wild animal whenever we got too close.  With small kids, I can’t have that, so we adopted him out to a good place where he can get a little more one on one time.  This is who we are left with:

So she used to be called “Squirrel” or “Squirrely Girl”, right?  Well have I ever told you that I have a terrible habit of naming pets one thing and then giving them a nickname that is more their name than the official name?  Well I’ve done it again except this time I outright changed it.  So she is no longer Squirrel.  Her new name is Midgey.  She just looks like a Midge, and with the y on the end, it’s cute.  It is.

This cat has the intelligence of a muddy boot.  I have watched this cat try to jump on to high platforms only to splat in an epic fail kind of way.  I have watched her sit in her water dish and then tear ass through the house, traumatized over her wet butt.  She is dumb….but in an endearing sort of way.  She’s also very affectionate and fuzzy.  And fat.  She somehow got really fat.  I have no idea how it happened, but this cat got blumpy!  Again, in an endearing sort of way.  She’s my flufflepuff and I like her a whole lot.

I have had the hardest time sexing this cat.  As a baby, we were certain this was a male cat.  Now that they are nearing the 6 month age, we are pretty certain either this cat has a mutation where the testicles just never formed or it’s a female.  I’m pretty sure it’s safer to say “female.”  I used to call this cat Romeo, but now that the whole “Oh I don’t think you have a penis!” thing has happened, I’ve been calling this cat Sweety, since this cat is ultra mega sweet.  I’m not even kidding.  This cat is precious and darling.  I almost lost her due to a bad case of worms, but we were able to nurse her back to health.  She has emerald green eyes and a pink nose and she always meows very softly.  Sweety.

And there’s my beauty, Salem.  The only cat to retain her original name.  She hasn’t a speck of color on her.  She is pure black and her fur is thick and luxurious.  She’s an Alpha cat, but she’s sweet about it.  The only thing she gets fussy and bitchy about is her perch on the top of the cat play station.  That is where she sleeps and if another cat is up there when she wants it, she simply jumps up there, whacks the out-of-bounds intruder and lazily claims her territory.  She’s also a bit of a sentinel.  She is watchful and protective of her family.  Any time guests come over, she inspects them closely before she can relax.  I catch her staring at me all the time, watching me.  She always has a loving look on her face, but it can be a little off-putting.  Never you mind about all of that.  Make it a point to always befriend a black cat.  They are good luck and make for good companions….unless they are the kind that like to shit in your shoes.  Thankfully, Salem is the nice kind.

……

………….

…………………..

Ok, ok.  ONE picture of my boys before I end this.  And I’m only sharing this picture because I can feel my throat close up when I look at it because I am so touched by it.

Beautiful.

On Facebook, I’ve hidden the status updates from people who never have anything to say.  All they do is post the stupid copy and paste updates talking about Jesus and if you don’t repost this Jesus will know you don’t like him.  It just started becoming way too hard to not leave comments on those posts explaining that it is my sincere belief that Jesus doesn’t care about how many reposts he gets on Facebook.

Also on Facebook, I’ve had to hide the status updates of people with terrible spelling, grammar and those who update all in CAPS because they aren’t hip to the fact that all CAPS basically translates to you screaming at all who follow you.  Again, the trolling urge would kick in.  Every time I would see a post all in CAPS it would take all of my will power to not comment to the person and explain to them that it’s not necessary to scream about how gross tuna fish can be.  As far as the spelling and grammar go, I am actually rather forgiving unless you consistently post updates and your spelling and grammar usage would make a 5th grader giggle.  I’m not even kidding.  I don’t want to call anybody out, but the worst example was a person who liked to constantly make fun of how stupid other people are (another no-no on my feed readers…I don’t want to read that all of the time) and would misspell every other word in the post.  Holding back the troll on that one…well….let’s just say that I would need aspirin after those ordeals.

The worst one of all, however, are the people who are overly mushy.  I understand when people are happy with their lives, their jobs, their children, and their significant others that they want to exclaim it to the world.  When it’s an every now and then occurrence, I simply smile and read on.  If it’s an every other day, or, *gasp* every freaking day thing, you are killing me.  KILLING ME.  When I constantly see updates proclaiming that you have the greatest spouse in the world or that your kids are the greatest in the world, I want to bomb your house.  Even I have been known (once or twice) to post updates about how much I love Jessie or about how I think my kids are great, but I wouldn’t dare do them even once a month.  Like I said, if it’s every once in a while, it makes me smile.  But if you’re doing it on a weekly basis, I’m sorry but you are being an annoying ass.

I can remember ONE TIME where I posted about how great I think Jessie is and was immediately greeted with two comments about puking.  One comment was from a person who I know for a fact was being a bit of a douchebag and the other comment was from a person who likes to punish me for my reaction of curling into a ball and screaming for 5 minutes when she informed me that she had engaged in sexual congress with a very yucky person.  Posting such mushy posts, even for those of us who rarely do so comes with consequences at the hands of your lovable but butthole friends.  But to do it all of the time?  Oh it’s just so annoying.  It’s as if you have nothing better to say.  It’s shallow and it drives me up the freaking wall.  It takes almost all of my willpower not to comment on those posts and then, just for my amusement, reply to everything the poster has to say about my asshole remarks.  Luckily for these people, I just hide them from my feeds or unfollow them altogether.

I cage the troll.  I keep it locked away.  It’s peeking out right now in this jerk of a blog post where I reveal a peek at my asshole tendencies.  I try to keep it reigned in, honestly I do.  But sometimes, people make that so hard to do.  So if you ever wake up one day and think to yourself, I’d really like to annoy Somer today, you have your ammo.

It all started innocently enough.  We are turning one of the bedrooms in this house into an office.  The first and most horrible part of this renovation is the taking down of wallpaper…..wallpaper that previous owners have painted over.  Yeah, you can see where this is going.

We began by using a paper tiger to score the wallpaper and adding a chemical wallpaper remover.  What happened, though, was that there was too much paint and all we could score with the paper tiger was the paint and not the wallpaper.  We moved on to Plan B which was to use power scrapers with razor blades to manually and forcefully scrape the painted-over wallpaper off the walls.  It was very slow going and every time we hit a spot of stubborn and very stuck-on wallpaper, the scraper would move and we would scrape our knuckles on the wall.  After enough of those, we each had at least one skinless knuckle and a very bad mood going on.

“We need to find the people who painted over this wallpaper and murder them,” I told Jessie.  He gave me a crooked grin over his shoulder.  Then I had a bit of a delirious conversation with my conscience.

My conscience isn’t like Jiminy Cricket.  My conscience is once of those tiny asshole versions of myself with the halo and wings.  One time, I got mad at her and ripped her damned wings off.  She didn’t talk to me for a while and that time in my life still lives in infamy in my hometown.

“Now Somer,” my conscience said to me.  “You don’t REALLY wish harm upon the people who did this to the wallpaper.”

“Yes I do.”  I replied.

“Now, Somer!  You are better than that.  You know that in reality you would feel terrible if you brought about harm on a real person.”

“Okay, okay.  Maybe not murder.  I WOULD like to at least paddle the people.  This sucks.  Why couldn’t they take the fucking wallpaper down before painting?  This is just pure laziness!”

“You’ll be grateful at the end of this process that you decided to do it the right way.  Just push through.”

I scrape my knuckle on the wall again.

“No, I change my mind.  I want to kill whoever did this!”

“Now Somer!”

“Oh my God, SHUT UP!”

Off in my little corner of the room I started to giggle at myself and my in-depth argument with my conscience.  Then I scraped my knuckle again, cussed a blue streak, kicked the scraper and stomped out of the room.  I needed a breather.

Jessie decided to go back to the home improvement store and try buying a wallpaper steamer.  Last effort.  It ended up working great.  Finally we found what we needed.  Then just as we were heaving a heavy sigh of relief, Lukas came stumbling into the room totally naked with his pajamas bunched around his ankles with a huge smile on his face.  He happily informed us that he had gone poopy in the potty and Jessie and I had a good laugh and were grateful for the distraction.

After all of that, we got a section of wall no wader than a refrigerator done yesterday.  We went to bed at 8:30 completely disgusted with the whole project and decided to start anew today.  Hopefully it goes better and we actually make some damned progress!

This is basically going to be a photo post much like the lovely lady I linked to with small explanations of what you are looking at.  Seeing how this is only our second Christmas here, there are some muck ups that we will fix in years to come but please enjoy the pictures and get in the holiday spirit!  Haha, it’s like I’m beating you in the face with a jolly stick, folks!

My living room tree.  I call this my fancy schmancy tree.  I love sitting in here in the evenings with the kids and wait for Jessie to get home from work just looking at this.

I always wanted a grand staircase with a grand banister to decorate at Christmas.  While this is not grand, I’ll be damned if that isn’t pretty.

I like jingle bells.  I like to hang them on everything.  They look so festive and are always crazy cheap.  This is hanging on the hutch in my living room.

This is also from the hutch in my living room.  On the left is a simple ceramic nativity scene where the baby Jesus looks like Topher Grace in That 70s Show.  On the right are two kissing angels that my grandmother painted in a ceramics class decades ago.

I always make sure my silver is polished around Christmas.  There’s just something simply festive about silver.  This is the sideboard in my living room.  The candles on the left have trumpeting angels on them and the candles on the right are just bejeweled and sparkly.

The snowflake runner and centerpiece of my dining room table.  The silver tray and candles are the every day centerpiece but I just added some apple and golden pomegranate ornaments to it to make it even more sparkly.

The door leading to the sun room.  Jingle bells hanging on the handle and a bunch of pine cones hanging on the door itself.

Greenery on the sun room mantle.

The little 4-foot tree in the sun room.  I just have it decked out with red berries and a little wooden star on top that I found at Target.

Table in the sun room adorned with a mini tree, carolers made from corn husks and a bowl of candy.  Around the holidays, I always like to have candy all over the house because that’s how it was when I was little.  I love keeping those little touched from my childhood around.

My kitchen windows.  That funky tree used to hang on my bedroom door around the holidays when I was little.  I love looking at it because it was always around as a child.  Of course there is a festive jar full of holiday M&Ms.

This is my family room.  This picture is blurry and terrible, but I love how those huge lights on the tree look all fluffy and soft.  This is my favorite room decorated.

This is the ornament Jessie got me this year.  He said we needed it because it’s our first Christmas as a complete family.  He’s a swell guy.

This tree has all of my antique ornaments that I inherited from my grandmother and that were given to me by Jessie’s parents.  They don’t make them like this anymore and I love them so much.

I’ve also got a sweet collection of funky antique wooden ornaments like the snowman who is missing a nose and this train driven by a dog.  Also if you look at the above picture, you can see my cheeseburger ornament looming behind the train!

Frosty sitting on the bench keeping the pillows company.

The Christmas bears cuddled on the couch.  These are actually bears that were given to my brother and I when we were little.  I’m not sure how I ended up with them, but I put them out every year and will continue to do so until they fall apart.

This angel belonged to my grandmother.  It now sits on the mantle in my family room.

Also on the family room mantle.  My mom calls the one on the right a Who tree (Dr. Seuss) and tried to find one of her own this year with no success.  I love the Who tree.

The front of my house (and Lukas).  When Jessie asked me how I thought it looked, I replied with, “I think it looks like we have a short ladder!”  And we do.  So that top window and the slants of the house are bare and weird looking for this year.  We’ll fix the problem next year hopefully.

I love this lamp post.  Can you believe that the wreath and ribbon together hanging from it cost only $5?  I scored on that one.

My porch.  (Never mind the creepy guy in the door.)If you’re wondering why only half of my front door has garland draped over it, ask Jessie.  I thought 9 feet was plenty and asked Jessie why he didn’t just drape the garland so that it went over the top corners of the door and down half way.  “BECAUSE THAT LOOKED STUPID!”  was his reply.  “You need to buy another garland!”  Another to-do for next year.

My door.  We recently stripped that door down to the wood and sanded years of scuffs and dents from it.  It looks like a new door and I’m really proud of all the work Jessie did on it to make it look good.  That brass about wore my thumbs to the bone with my polishing it.  But it’s clean and happy and festive looking now!

That’s all I’ve got.  My happy festive house!  Seriously, click that link I provided.  Seriously.  Her house is so freaking pretty and festive.

I’m stubborn.  I’m particular.  Dammit, I want to do things myself!  I appreciate the offers that I get for help.  I appreciate lending hands, or at least the offers for such.  But when I turn the offers down, people get mad at me.  My mom, Jessie, Jessie’s mom, my friends….people get pissed when I utter those words.

I can take this opportunity to explain a few things that would make me look like a broken girl.  We could take a psychological look at my need for control as a means to keep my childhood from happening to me all over again, blah blah blah blah.  I don’t want anybody’s damned pity.  And sometimes I don’t want your help either.  But I try not to come off as an asshole when I POLITELY turn down these offers.  The following is a conversation that I have had many times with many different people and they all seem to end the same way.

Anybody: “Do you need me to help you with [X]?”

Me:  “Oh, no thanks.”

Anybody:  “Why don’t you want me to help?”

Me:  “Because I can do it.”

Anybody:  “Well I’m sure you CAN.  But wouldn’t you like some help?”

Me:  “No.”

Anybody:  “Why?”

Me:  “Because I can do it.”

Anybody:  “SOMER!”

This is when I can be seen running into the nearest wall and slamming my face into it.

When I really need help and help is offered to me, I accept it.  It’s not that I’m being unreasonable here.  I just really like to do things myself.  After I had Ruegen, my mom told me that she was going to come to my house and do my laundry and clean for me.  When she arrived, she found that I had done my laundry and was steering her away from the subject of cleaning.

My Mom:  “You’re not going to let me clean your house, are you?”

Me:  “Nope.”

My Mom:  “Why not?”

Me:  “Because I can do it.”

My Mom:  “SOMER.”

Me:  *FACE IN THE WALL*

But you see, I appreciate the offer.  I see that she offered her help because she loves me and wants to be useful to me.  I see that.  My turning it down doesn’t diminish my appreciation of that.  It just means that I want to do it myself.

Jessie gets particularly irritated with me over this subject.  Like REALLY irritated.  There aren’t many things that I do that irritate him more, actually.  Here is how our exchanges usually go.

Jessie:  “Do you need help?”

Me:  “No.”

Jessie:  “Why not?”

Me:  “Because I can do it.”

Jessie:  “I didn’t ask if you could do it or not!  I asked if you needed help!”

Me:  “No, I don’t need help.”

Jessie:  “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Me:  “Because I can do it.”

Jessie:  “SOMER!”

Me:  “WHAT?”

Jessie:  “Let me help you!”

Me:  “I don’t need help!  I CAN DO IT!”

Jessie:  *Incoherent scream*

Sadly, this exact conversation happens AT LEAST once a week in my house.  He won’t take the hint and I’m not backing down.  It’s a war we’ll always fight I guess.

But you see, I CAN do the things that I’m being offered help to complete.  I can do them perfectly fine.  I don’t struggle.  I’m quite competent at a thing or two in my little life and when I say I can do it, I CAN DO IT.  The offers for help don’t annoy me, it’s the fact that my proclaiming that I can do it annoys people that annoys me.  Why, I wonder?  It can be entertaining.  Sit back and watch me get befuddled with something and laugh.  Watch me try to carry heavy things and giggle when I stub my toe on the corner of the wall.  Go sit on the couch and talk with other people while I wash millions of dishes after dinner.  I’m not turning down the offers to be a martyr.  I’m turning them down because, well, for gosh sake’s I CAN DO IT.