The Manifesto

The dd is petsitting. She's turning this into a regular business, with a couple of regular customers already. She loves animals in a way that is insane, but hey, if you can make money off of what you love, why not?

These people are, however, first time customers. And probably last time. When the lady called to discuss the dates, she kept dd on the phone for almost two hours. I know that teenaged girls love to talk on the phone, but not to old ladies who yammer on about their husbands. She finally got off the phone after setting up a date to go meet the diabetic cat she'd be watching.

DH took her down to meet the cat, and spent another hour or two listening to her yammer. They mentioned that the cat was sick, but they'd still need her to watch the two dogs, even if the cat croaked. Which it did. But this didn't stop the lady of the house from giving dd a six page manifesto of the requirements of the job.

Included in said document were about a gazillion details, including:

You can talk to the neighbors to the north, but not to the ones who live to the south. We don't like them.

You may read the newspaper, as long as you put it back together properly, and leave it neatly folded on the table.

Don't turn the Sleep Number bed down past 35, because it's annoying to wait for it to inflate again, after it's down that low.

If you want to brush your hair in the bathroom, put a towel down on the counter, so it doesn't get hair on it.

If you want to use hairspray, get in the shower, so it doesn't get on the tile or marble, and only spray hairspray in the extra bathroom, not the main one.

Don't turn the stove up past Medium, and don't use the oven at all.

You may eat the fruit, ice cream, milk, or Coke. You may not have the coffee, candy, or anything that needs to be cooked.

You are to stay at the house the entire time we are gone. You may not have friend over. The room with the computer in it will be locked. (They also locked the garage, so she can't see what crashed in there during the earthquake this morning.)

Her friend read the manifesto and said "welcome to Hell."

Then she had to have another two hour meeting with the lady of the house, so that she could show her how to use the alarm (which took five minutes) and show her the miniscule details that she'd already outlined in the manifesto. Hubby calls me on my cell in the middle of this meeting and says "what do you think of that house? They have a lotta crap, don't they?" Like I can answer, with this lady prattling on about how the cat vomited on the vintage wedding dress in her sitting room, including what said vomit looked like. It was a special moment.

The dear girl is definitely earning her pay this time -- and is promptly jacking up her rates, to show her displeasure at being asked to imprison herself there again, for twelve days, next month. Nevermore, sayeth the raven haired one.

At least the dogs seem nice. And her dog seems to be dealing with her absence fairly well, despite his normal separation anxiety, and an earthquake to boot. And so, in honor of my bratty gurl, and the cajones it takes to deal with crazy old ladies, here's a cool hunting themed novelty print skirt, from my favorite seller here locally, cause she named her store after me: Old & Beautiful.