And we're back- five things worse than grading

I've just spent a wonderful week with my parents. One might wonder how a week with parents might be classified as wonderful, but that's because you don't know my parents, especially my mother (hi mom!), who used the word 'cocksucker' at dinner the other night.

After putting mom and dad on the road, I realized that the wireless on my laptop no longer worked. I spent several hours waiting in the wet, crowded, hot Apple Store, only to be given a 5 minute inspection by the unimaginably pretty yet inexplicably straight employee boy, and told that that my airport card had dislodged. It just needed to be shoved in harder. Seriously, you gotta really push it in there, especially with these little ones. (I have a 12-inch. Laptop, that is. *Rimshot*) It still didn't work, so he was forced take it in the back room and wiggle it around some more. At that point, my brain had him bent over 6 ways and crying, but I guess my airport card got fixed, too. Whatevs. Sweet Lord Jesus deliver me.


And without further delay or unnecessary innuendo, let's participate in a meme! I've been tagged by Dr. Brazen Hussy, so let us begin...

Five things worse than grading:

1. Waiting for the nailpolish on my toes to dry. To be fair, what I really hate are my nasty toenails, which require painting so that they don't sear the retinas of all who gaze upon them. Gotta keep the ol' self-loathing at bay.

2. The fact that it's rained almost continuously for four days.

3. Stray body hair in the bathroom. There are up to three Greek men in this apartment at any given time, and while they invented Democracy, they can't keep their body hair under control. There's nothing like going to sit down on the toilet seat and "Whoa! Hello, strange pube!"*

4. Cleaning out the refridgerator or doing laundry, my most hated of all domestic chores.

5. Men's back hair**. I've come to terms with chest hair- I don't like it, but if I'm going to date post-pubescent, it's a reality. However, back hair is an entirely different story. Why? Because if a man has something stuck in his chest hair, he can see it and pick it out. Not so with the other stuff. Things hide in there. Also, the first time you catch yourself absentmindedly running your fingers through it, there's that pesky urge to commit ritual suicide.

*There is a 100% chance that pube is NOT mine, and you can take that to the BANK.
**Astute readers may note that 2/5ths of my answers have to do with men's wayward body hair. Please do not take this as a condemnation of men in general, but rather, a gentle encouragement of good grooming. I used to date a guy who wouldn't treat the eczema on his face because he thought it looked 'manly'. Allow me to rebut: BullS**T. I apply the same criteria to myself: if it's not pleasantly fragranced and nicely groomed, I'm not going to shove your face in it. I only ask that you extend me the same courtesy. Then, it's game on.

So it's on to you, Lucky Doubles Roller