Oh, please don't click. That will just make it
bigger and scarier.
Vleeptron is not shutting down as it did when we were off on a little holiday to the sunny Caribe.
Bob is shutting down because contractors are ripping the crap out of the ancient (circa 1954) kitchen -- a very comfy, cozy, warm, inviting kitchen if you ask me -- and installing a new, modern kitchen.
Assuming I get any sleep at all, I awaken every morning at an ungodly hour to these merry elves and their power tools, hammers and pry bars invading my most intimate space and destroying the old and replacing it with the latest, most modern new fixtures.
The cats are more terrified and disoriented than I am; they are usually cowering in the back bedroom.
The tiny living room is packed with giant cardboard crates containing new fixtures. Preparing a meal or washing dishes is impossible; there's no kitchen sink. Every aspect of my homelife is upside down and backwards and will be so for more than a week. Maybe this hell will never end.
Anyway I am trying not to let it degrade or harm Vleeptron too much. I am trying. With the help of strong pills.
There's a chance I may suddenly throw some underwear and socks in a bag and run away from home. My own presence throughout this process is pretty useless and uneccessary. The process is creating the kitchen of S.W.M.B.O.'s fantasies. You should see it in full color on the contractor's computer. It's like a video game whose object is to drain all your money and change everything you and the cats are used to.
Above, Betty Furness, a somewhat failed motion picture actress who recycled herself as the spokeswoman for General Electric kitchen appliances on ancient black-and-white television commercials in the 1950s and 60s. Several times a week for a few decades, Betty Furness explained to America that everything that was wrong and unsatisfying and unfulfilled with your life will be cured magically and forever by installing a new all-electric kitchen.
Look. I don't want Elegant Living. I want to live in familiar and comfortable squalor and disorder.
When people visit, I *want* them to judge me on my ancient, rusty, antique kitchen. I want them to judge me harshly. I want my old kitchen to scare them. I want them to call my kitchen a failure.
Then I'll know they're assholes and I can forbid them from ever darkening my door again.
I suppose when it's all over, we'll have much more useful cabinet space, and the kitchen won't look like a hovel in rural Malaysia. The whole thing is making me sick. To use the microwave (now in my office) first I have to turn off the TV, or a fuse will blow in the basement.
If you see Betty Furness, please notify Homelamp Security immediately so they can throw a black hood over her head and fly her to a secret prison in Eastern Europe or some unspecified Asian country and never let her back to America. Make her stop spreading propaganda and lies about modern kitchens. Leave my kitchen alone. Leave me alone.
1 comment:
Come to Boston for the day. You can even couch surf if you want to for the night.
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