Half a.....

I don't like the expression half-assed.

And believe it or not, I've been called that a time or two.

Like when I was a kid and my mom would order up a room cleaning. I'd be done quickly, cause that's just how I work. She'd come in to do the once over and things would be looking good until Cracker Ass, my not so half-assed sister challenged her to look under the bed or take a peek inside the closet.

Our mother would pull out the dirty clothes, the piles of papers, the dessert plates and coffee cups that I'd stashed in those spots.

She'd create a piggy mountain in the middle of the floor, furrow her brow and growl...

"Clean this up, do it right...this... is... half-assed!!!!"

"You don't ever want to be half-assed".

Daddio has said that same thing, but about different stuff.

He gets all pissy like when I fold his laundry and the legs of his jeans are twisted.

Who has the time to match seams?

Or the interest?

Well, I guess Daddio does.

Since his lay off he's been doing the laundry and our clothes have never looked better.

No random seams on the sides of the pant legs.

Everything is turned right side out.

He remembers to stain treat and separate.

And not once has he given Bear Googie's underwear.

Oh, how I despise competence.

And arrogance.

And those, who because they seem to effortlessly do a good thorough job, are never called half-assed.

Oh well, the world would be a boring place if it were filled with over achievers wouldn't it???

Yesterday morning while showering I had myself a little giggle.

I was shaving and in an effort to save myself a bit of time I only did the bottom half of my legs.

I was wearing capris so what the stinkin heck....??

Not half-assed, I thought....

half-ape.

Tee-hee... enjoy your Wednesday.