Let's start the new year with a SCM story, shall we?
Well first I need to rag on my son.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. THE HOLIDAYS ARE OVER SO GO HOME! You know that place that I am constantly helping you out with the rent? Go there. I am tired of having all my bath towels on the "guest room" floor.
Newsflash: You don't need two fresh towels each time you shower...which is twice a day.
Which brings me back to SCM.
Initially when the Stinkman found my old blog, he seemed insulted at the nickname enough to actually do something about it.
But, I guess remembering that cologne and breath mints aren't a replacement for soap and toothpaste is extremely difficult.
In the weeks that he isn't called to work for a few days at a time, he feels no need to rinse away the lovely odor of sweat and stale cigarettes. I solve this problem by cringing away from his touch and informing him that he is grossing me out. Now if someone mentioned to me that I smell like swiss cheese has been rotting in my ass crack for a month, I would be slightly humiliated and rush to rectify the rectum situation.
I guess that is just me.
He chooses to have a tandrum and go to his room and pout. A room that not only lacks running water but smells just as bad as he does.
Often that works for me. Okay, that ALWAYS works for me. If he is gone, I can take deep breaths and I enjoy those simple pleasures of life.
However, SCM hasn't worked in a couple of days and choose to cook last night.
That he would have his hands in and around as he rolled them.
Placing them in sauce and contaminating that as well.
Deep inside me is a human being and I understand the need to be appreciated for making a nice dinner for another person. I also understand the desire for the person that I cooked for to actually consume said food.
Yeah...wasn't gonna happen.
I keep picturing him wiping the sweat away from his face with his hands followed by a good scratch to the old balls before he picked up the chopped meat.