Yeah. So. The whole thing about people being in our house while we're not here is seriously getting to me. It's not so much about the being here part, it's the fact that they are touching our stuff. It is driving me NUTS. I know it's just part of the home selling process, but still. IT'S OUR STUFF. Keep your paws to yourself, people.

Karen had commented that she didn't think I seemed the type to get my panties in a wad over something silly like a stranger pulling back a shower curtain. I thought about it for a while, and she was right. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what my problem was. It's SILLY. Then, suddenly, Captain Obvious swooped down out of the sky, punched me in the face, and screamed, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO ACT BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT USED TO HAVING NICE THINGS."

Oh. Yeah. That.

It turns out that when you grow up wearing KMart jeans and living in a beat-down trailer house, you end up with a complex. An epic, possessive complex. It doesn't help that any time I've ever managed to get something nice, somebody just had to go and screw it up.

Example #1: My Honda CRX. It was the first decent car I ever bought. I didn't get it new, but I did get it in muy excellent condition. Then, while I was working at Walt Disney World, some poopface who lived in my apartment complex backed out of the parking space next to my precious car when they didn't have enough space. They left a $2000 dent alllllll down the side, but not so much as a note to say sorry. My insurance deductible was $1000 at the time, so I couldn't afford to fix it for over a year. My poor, poor car.

Example #2: My wedding dress. I had a GORGEOUS wedding dress. I found it online for an insanely good price, but it was still a crazy perfect dress. I made it all through our wedding day without messing it up, despite an outdoor wedding. When we returned to our house, I hung it from a hanger on the outside of the closet door. When we came back from our honeymoon, I found that it had fallen to the floor. And a jerkwad cat had pissed on it. Cat pee? Is DISGUSTING. My poor, poor dress.

Example #3: My dishes. Please note, I said "my" dishes, not our. They are MINE. I lurve them and I picked them and I lurve them so, so much. Mr. Husband and Alexis are allowed to use them, but only with extreme care. Too bad they are both born of the breed Klutzwad. I don't think there is a single piece that doesn't have a chip or crack or something. They don't mean to be evil to my dishes, but they are. My poor, poor dishes.

I could go on and on. It's a fact that no matter what it is, if I get something nice, it will get destroyed. Period.

I need mousetraps. Lots and lots of mousetraps. I'm sure nobody will hesitate to buy a house right after they get their fingers smashed for touching our stuff.

(More dorkbutts, this time trashing my couch. Seriously. They have TRASHED it, especially the middle one. She's a four-legged, drooling, farting, furniture-destroying machine.)