Dear Target employees: shut up

I'm not quite sure if it's because of the weather (sub-zero), the fact that I hacked into my finger with a bread knife this morning or just dealing with clueless dumb asses everywhere I go, but holy shit you guys, society is just pissing me right off.

This morning, after dropping Charlie off at the high school (because it was -13 and hell, who wouldn't want door to door service when it's that cold), I drove through the Brueggers drive thru line for a half dozen bagels. I placed my order, specifically asking for the carb bombs to be sliced, and drove to the window where I was greeted with the sight of an employee's underwear-covered ass and an incorrect total. Now, I don't give a shit how Damon or Devon or whatever the hell his name is wants to dress when he's out with friends or going to school or whatever the hell he does in his not-working-at-Brueggers time and am generally not an "Oh my god can you believe how kids dress these days!" kind of person (except in regards to how girls are dressing like whores), but seriously fucko, if you're serving food and are standing in a spot where you are in direct contact with your customers and your ass is at the customers' eye level, stop putting the belt at the bottom of your ass cheeks and PULL YOUR FUCKING PANTS UP!

After I got home, I had decided that I wasn't going to be the crabby old lady that calls the store regarding the fact that the sight of some kid's underwear was burned into my retinas, but then I reached into the bagel bag to discover that the bagels weren't sliced and half of them were rock hard. So while Zoe starting gnawing her way through a cinnamon sugar brick, I called the store with my list of grievances and it was while I was simultaneously on the phone with the manager and hacking into a bagel that the bread knife slipped. I was like "OH FUCK I JUST CUT MY FINGER WHILE SLICING THIS AWESOME BAGEL!" and the manager said "Well, slicing bagels while on the phone probably isn't a very good idea" so I said "WELL NO SHIT BUT I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO CUT THE BAGEL IN THE FIRST PLACE IF IT HAD BEEN SLICED LIKE I ORDERED." She was silent. And promised me a dozen free bagels.

Eventually, after a lot of applying pressure, a few "Ewww!"'s from the family and about an hour, my finger finally stopped having its period and I could go about my day. So of course I did what most moms do on a freezing ass cold Tuesday: I went to Target.

Now, is it just me or is Target sucking? I don't mean "sucking to the point that I'm going to start shopping at Walmart" sucking, but it's definitely sucking. Maybe their explanation is true and the entire population of my corner of the metro area is in need of a certain type of sandwich bag or pea pod or salsa on the exact same day and that's why they happen to be out of stock, but I don't think so. And why is it that you can't walk 10 steps down any aisle without someone asking "DO YOU NEED HELP FINDING ANYTHING?" but when you actually have a legitimate question, no one in a red shirt and khakis is within shooting distance?

And here is where you may think that hell froze over because I'm about to say something positive about Walmart: When I do go in there and don't use the self-checkout line, the cashier simply scans my shit, puts 1-3 items in 42 different plastic bags, and I'm out. There's no awkward conversation, no "how is your day" or "what's with the weather huh" or "what'r you doing this weekend." I like that.

Target cashiers, on the other hand, want to know your favorite color, what you're doing for lunch, what movies you've seen and whether or not you have a good relationship with your parents. There's one Target employee in particular that if I see her, I run away from her line like she has Ebola. She bags very non-Tetris style, is a Red Card bully and surveys my purchases way too closely. Yes, chick, I am buying half a dozen jugs of diet tonic and some limes... and I'm going to go next door to purchase some delicious vodka because I'm an alcoholic, duh!

Today, Ebola Cashier was nowhere in sight, so I went to what I always seem to find: the shortest but slowest moving line. The lady standing in front of me looked capable, organized and pregnant. Did she look like she was going to give birth right there in line 7? No. Was she obviously pregnant? Yes. Should someone ever, EVER comment on the extent of how visible the pregnancy is? NEVER.

While Anonymous Cashier scanned the items, she said something that should be stricken from the English language: "Wow! It looks like you're about to pop!" I waited patiently for Pregnant Lady to say the line I've always dreamed of using in this type of situation, which is "Really? I'm actually only 9 weeks pregnant." but she simply and politely said "Oh, gosh, well, yes I'm having a baby soon."

Anonymous Cashier proceeded to ask her if it was her first or second child (second), if they knew what they were having (a boy) and what they already had at home (a girl). "Oh PERFECT!" she exclaimed. "You'll have the perfect family! So many people want one of each and are so disappointed when they find out they're having another of what they already have!" At this point, Pregnant Lady just stood there, speechless but still smiling. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, glaring at Anonymous Cashier, because I felt sad.

First of all, she was bagging like shit and taking forever. Second, how does she know what "perfect" is? How does she know that the woman she's talking to hasn't been struggling with infertility, miscarriages or even the death of a child? I understand that she was just trying to come up with conversation topics surrounding this woman's visible life-changing event that was just around the corner, but the way she went about it was so incredibly awkward and could've been avoided if she had just said "Oh congratulations, you must be so excited."

Maybe I'm hyper sensitive to comments like hers because we have had a miscarriage (like so many other people) and we have had a baby boy die (hopefully not like so many other people) a year before Zoe was born, and so when people look at our family of two boys and a little girl and say "Oh you got your little girl, you must be so relieved you didn't have three boys" I simply say "Yes, we do have a girl" instead of what I want which is to hiss and claw at their eyes.

So, PSA to Target: please tell your employees to: 1) quit asking every single customer if they need help because some of us get asked 17 times within 8 minutes and it's kind of annoying, 2) learn how to bag stuff properly, 3) NEVER tell a pregnant customer that she looks like she's about to pop, and 4) stop sharing their opinions as to what they think is a "perfect" family.

Leaving a little to be desired

When my kids register for high school classes, I try to be realistic and make sure they don't create a schedule for themselves that will A) stress them out, which in turn B) stresses me out, which C) makes it impossible for any of us to sleep, which results in D) all of us being sick with some form of disease from November - May.

What's that? It's the kids' existence in general that prevents me from sleeping? Oh yeah, I forgot about that part, because chronic sleep deprivation leads to memory loss.

Anyway, up to this point, our strategy has been pretty successful. They've taken classes that have been challenging, but they aren't up until 3am doing homework every night. They take a few classes that are considered "fun," but aren't a complete waste of time. They've taken a couple AP classes, but aren't feeling the pressure to complete both college and high school at the same time.

So yay me for embracing 10% mediocrity and realizing the fact that none of my kids are applying to colleges that require a perfect ACT score, 120% minority status, 4.0 GPA's and they certainly aren't med school material. And anyway, they'd all be pretty sucky doctors because all I have to do is mention an owie or a burn or a small stab wound to them and they're all "EWWWWW! Oh my god GROSSS! UGGGHHH! That must really hurt! Bye!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

During the elementary school years, I attend the parent teacher conferences because, well, I have to. I mean, when the "pick a time slot for your conference" registration arrives, there isn't a box to check for NONE TIME SLOT. So I attend, and listen, and occasionally drive a pointy elbow into my child's side and in general, these conferences aren't unpleasant.

Starting in junior high, though, I start phasing those conferences out of my calendar. I figure that, based on the grades I'm seeing and the lack of phone calls I'm receiving, the kids are doing their part and I really don't need to walk around and hear "you have a fine young person" over and over again. Because, while I know that I have a fine young person, I also know that the young person is capable of being very not-so-fine and, well, I'd be super tempted to share a couple stories, just so those teachers don't start setting their expectations unrealistically high.

Once the kids get to high school, the conferences have completely phased out and I try to leave all accountability to the kid. I try to NEVER email a teacher to question a test score or inquire about a missing assignment, and instead bring it to the child's attention in a calm, nurturing conversation that sounds a lot like WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING?

Recently, however (and because discussing this with my kid is making me drink even more than usual), I made a huge exception, broke down and emailed a teacher. And while I will be the first to admit that our school district has a grading system that is best suited for the toilet, I am not blaming this flawed system for my kid's current lack of performance. I am, however, blaming his performance on his most recent affliction: lazyassitis.

Here is the email...



Good morning, Marlene.

I have been hoping that I wouldn't have to contact you myself, as I've been trying to hold Charlie personally accountable for his grades and schoolwork without me having to double check things and make sure he's being responsible. It seems though, after reviewing his biology grade through this trimester, that this wish was the same as my wish for a snow-free and abnormally warm winter because THE OUTCOME IS EXACTLY THE SAME... DISAPPOINTING!

After having a fairly decent first trimester in all of his classes, it appears as though Charlie's brain has fallen out as there are a couple of grades that leave a little to be desired. A "little" being defined, in this case, as A WHOLE CRAP TON OF DESIRE.

I spoke very passionately with him a couple weeks ago about how "disappointed" I was in what is obviously a lack of classroom maturity this trimester as well as what appears to be a general "oh well" attitude and told him that he should make great efforts to change both perceptions because anger is an emotion that I don't enjoy. We have made significant adjustments as to how he is allowed to spend his free time at home, and that seems to be making a difference in a couple of his classes. But biology seems to continue to elude him.

Now I'm like dude, she's not expecting you to find the cure for cancer. Just learn the material and turn your stuff in!

I may be sending this email approximately 55 days too late, as I know the trimester is wrapping up. I know that he was in your classroom before school to do some test corrections on his most recent disaster. Now I'm wondering... is there anything else that this child could possibly do to salvage his grade even a little bit? He claims that the test that he really rocked on with a 0 back in December is unable to be corrected or retaken and isn't even sure if that test was ever handed back.

On another note, although his grade throughout the first trimester was pretty good, he seemed to do REALLY VERY BAD on the final. I know that he has asked you about this and was wondering if maybe there was a scoring error, as that test grade doesn't really reflect the rest of the trimester. However, based on his super awesome performance during the second tri, maybe the final was just foreshadowing.

Thanks for your time. Have a great weekend.

The truth sucks

Since it's been approximately 873 kajillion days since I've written anything longer than a Facebook post or a tweet, here's a brief summary of what has happened in our world: my husband is still married to me, I'm older but not more mature, oldest kid is a senior with a car and is busy with the college search, middle kid is a sophomore and grew no less than eight inches last year, youngest kid is a 4th grader and, up until this morning, she still believed in Santa.

Yes, that's right, I prolonged that lie for as long as I could, enjoying every year of bribery, letting her sound like a fool to her non-believing friends with her "well who is eating the cookies!" argument. I convinced her that Santa had a $50 dollar spending limit and didn't go to Best Buy. And even though the last few years meant that I'd be up later and later, well after her wise to the world older brothers finally went to bed so I could stuff the stockings and hang them by the doesn't-have-a-chimney-gas fireplace with hope-the-weight-of-this-shit-doesn't-crash-to-the-ground care, I nurtured the existence of Santa.

Lately, Zoe has been asking me no fewer than three times each day if Santa is real. And while I normally have a rolling list of boring replies like "of course he's real" and "don't listen to your friends, they're all crack babies and don't know anything," there are times when I'm completely unprepared because she asks the question at the worst possible moment, like when I'm tweezing my eyebrows or trying to prepare frozen waffles. Plus, there's the fact that lately, every time I lie about it, I feel guilty, knowing that she's only going to ask the same question again tomorrow because at school "Katie said that she has proof because her mom TOLD her that SHE buys all the presents!" and I'll be thinking yeah, well, good for Katie's mom and her ability to enjoy the holiday season without having to buy special Santa wrapping paper.

A few days ago, out of nowhere but possibly because she had a loose tooth, she said "Well, I'm not completely sure about Santa but at least I know that the Tooth Fairy is real." FUCKING FUCK YOU GUYS! The Tooth Fairy?! Are you kidding me right now? I was sure that she had stopped believing in that crap at least a year ago, possibly when I said something like "Zoe, seriously, do you honestly think that some chick dressed like a fairy comes into our always-locked house in the middle of the night without making the dog bark, takes your stinky tooth, and leaves a handful of change?" 

So again, instead of coming right out and saying "your parents are liars and there isn't a tooth fairy," I tried to convince her to use logical thinking skills. The conversation went something like this:

Zoe: The cool thing is that the Tooth Fairy pays more for molars.
Me: That is false.
Zoe: What's false, the Tooth Fairy or the money?
Me: Well, the money, but also, why would someone want a bunch of teeth?
Zoe: For her collection. Lots of people have weird collections. Hers just happens to be a collection of stinky teeth.
Me: But what does she do with them?
Zoe: The same as everyone else! She just keeps them in a room. But she doesn't ever go in that room and she has to keep the door closed because it smells so bad.
Me: Really, Zoe. This makes sense to you...
Zoe: Well, yes. And I know the Tooth Fairy is real because there was that time when you and I were gone and when I got home there was money where I had left my tooth. But I'm still not sure about Santa. Is Santa real? 
Me: I think we should just keep talking about the Tooth Fairy.

Yesterday, while biting down on a ham sandwich, that loose molar jammed sideways and "was just hanging by a thread of skin" so Zoe, who is not squeamish when it comes to cash-generating molars, reached in and yanked that bloody sucker out. She promptly put it in a cup and left it on the bathroom counter, waiting for her bounty. 

This morning, when Charlie came down for breakfast, he said "hey, Tooth Fairy, don't you need to put some money in the bathroom for Zoe's tooth?" and I'm all CRAP! I FORGOT! So I handed him a few quarters and told him that he could do the sentimental ritual of chucking the tooth in the garbage. He's like "Nice! What if she looks in there and sees it?" and I'm like duh, kid, make an effort to hide the thing under some kleenex or something.

I know, I'm teaching vital parenting skills here.

While standing in the bathroom after her shower, Zoe started talking about Christmas and how she had started making a list of things she wanted, and was deciding which item-that's-under-$50 to ask Santa for, and then BAM! Oh and hey by the way is Santa real? The Dixie cup of quarters was still sitting on the bathroom counter and just like that, I wanted to stop the lies. She was old enough to deal with the truth and anyway, I kind of wanted to start getting a little more credit for all the work I put into filling those stockings with kick ass shit. So, as I thought about all the future bribery opportunities I was about to lose, I said "Well, Katie may have a very valid argument."

I stood there and watched her brain churn, trying to process the many layers of Santa, and it was then that her eyes drifted down to the cup of quarters. "Well, then, I guess it was you who put those quarters there." "Actually, no," I said. "It wasn't," and as her eyebrows went up... "it was your brother." Salt, meet wound.

She seemed to handle the death of Santa surprisingly well, but then, while I was blowdrying her hair, she started to cry. And I started to feel like shit, knowing that our house was done with Santa (and the Tooth Fairy) forever. She just stood there mumbling things like "but the cookies! and the letters! and the special wrapping paper! and the cool stuff in my stocking!" and while I was sympathetically saying "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," while trying not to burn her hair, I was also thinking "Yeah! Tell me about it! It was soooo much work! And I got credit for NONE of it! But things are gonna change, oh yeah, you got that right!"

We ended up talking about how believing in Santa makes Christmas really fun, but obviously knowing the truth about him shouldn't make it any less fun. I mean, her brothers haven't believed in Santa since they were in 4th grade, and they still love Christmas and get a cool present "from Santa." We talked about how Christmas is about so many things other than Santa: time off from school, spending time with family, parties, amazing food, cool presents, possibly a tennis tournament, sleeping in and laughing at the freaky neighbors who hyper decorate their houses. You know, all the important things.

By the time she was ready for school, she was feeling better and didn't seem too bummed. Maybe she was relieved to know the truth, knowing that she had one less thing to argue with the kids at school about. And then, when I was dropping her off, she said with a smirk, "So, then, maybe I won't ask Santa for a movie, but will ask for a 3DS instead, since maybe now he'll spend more than $50."

DAMMIT!

My Medical History

Fortunately, I hardly ever get really sick and even when I do, I rarely go to the doctor because every time I do, I hear the same thing: "Well, we're really not sure what you have. It's probably just a virus or something. But just to be on the safe side, here are a bunch of prescriptions that will cost approximately $125, watch out for the pesky side effects, don't operate any heavy machinery, don't drink and you may not want to wander too far from a bathroom. Oh, and by the way, we'll see you in about a week or so when whatever germ you just picked up from the clinic embeds itself in your system."

And then I leave and continue to feel like shit for another week.

I do, however, manage to make a yearly appearance at a magical place called the Gyno. I know there are several women out there that skip this appointment because it's, well, icky, but ever since I had a sketchy test result a few years ago, I find that I get a little jolt of euphoria every time I get that self-addressed pink postcard in the mail, telling me that my cervix looks pretty damn healthy.

Prior to this year's appointment, my clinic sent me a health history questionnaire to fill out and send back before my actual arrival in the office. Apparently some women take 2368 minutes to answer all the damn questions, so they figured out that they should mail the form out ahead of time, hoping like hell that the sheet of paper doesn't get misplaced or lost in the mail or possibly even end up in the hands of a stranger who, after reading it, now knows that Myrtle Johansen poops her pants and also suffers from heavy flow periods that last 9 days and morph her into a raging bitch.

As I was filling out my form, I realized that some of the questions were pretty vague and the space provided to answer said questions or provide explanations was extremely insufficient. So, even though I'm mailing the original form back to my doctor, I decided that in order to be completely honest about my medical history, some of the questions deserved more than a yes or no answer.

THE MEAN MOM'S MEDICAL HISTORY

Name: The Mean Mom

Age: 41

Address: That place where my minivan is occasionally parked when it's not on a freeway

Issues you want to discuss: Does the speculum really have to be ice cold and the paper robe have to be made of 80 grit sandpaper? And seriously, what is up with your fucking scale?

Medications: besides that thing I take at 10:30 every night that prevents me from reproducing, I'd like to take valium, maybe a Xanax, and even an occasional diuretic for when I overdue it on the onion rings.

Allergies: bullshit, clueless people, sample hoarders at Costco, slow drivers in the left lane, hyper-competitive parents, volunteer whores, the easily offended. Oh, and ragweed.

Provide most recent date of the following:

Mammogram: pretty sure you need more than .002% breast tissue to have one

Colonoscopy: ick. plus I eat lots of yogurt for a reason

Cholesterol: I eat lots of vegetables for a reason

Bone density: I'm sure I'm fine because every time I step on your damn scale and see the number, I assure myself that it's because of my big, dense, healthy bones.

Tetanus shot: I'm sorry, whu? Adults need shots? How about if I just try to avoid stepping on nails.

First day of last period: A few weeks ago, when I had something really, super duper fun planned and was totally looking for something to act as an inconvenience.

How many days does it last: Does it really matter? Because honestly, even one day is too many.

Birth control method: any time I see someone else get spit up on or tell me about their teething and ear infection woes, that is my birth control. Also, see "medications" above.

Relationship status: married, to a boy. Which I guess is quite the privilege because as we all know, I wouldn't be able to be legally married to a girl, which is BULL SHIT!

Occupation: hahahahahhahaha... oh, I mean I'm a mom.

Alcohol use: well, if you check my file, you'll see I have 3 kids so, yes... duh.

Do you think you should cut down on your drinking? um, fuck no. If anything, I should drink more.

Have people annoyed you by criticizing your drinking? People annoy me all the time, but about my drinking? no. Which is good, because if they did I'd have to throat punch them.

Have you felt guilty about your drinking? Again, fuck no.

Have you ever had a drink first thing in the morning? Dumbass, have you never heard of a thing called a bloody mary?

Recreational drug use? Sadly, no. I find it's hard to explain all that scarring to the teenagers in my house and be all "don't do drugs!"

What do you do for exercise? Never sit down. If you need to know why, see "Occupation" above.

Do you have any of the following:

Fatigue: it depends. Did anyone have a bloody nose/bad dream/shit attack last night? Did I have time for a nap in the last month? Are my kids suddenly self-sufficient? Are we talking general tiredness or all out dragging my ass around the house and having a hard time pronouncing words? Either way, yes.

Weight loss: hahahahahhahahahha heeee haahahahaha

Weight gain:

Headache: kind of depends on the time/day of the week

Dizziness: never before I drive home on a Friday night

Sore throat: if I was at a piano bar or a sporting event in the last 24 hours

Heart palpitations: my heart is fine, except for that one time that my oldest kid was driving on the freeway. One dude was merging, another dude was in his blind spot, and the kid was brain farting. Swerving took place, screaming of obscenities ensued, the younger children saw lives flashing before their eyes. Oh and did I mention that this happened on my birthday? Heart definitely palpitated.

Shortness of breath: Only after I see someone wipe out and end up laughing really, really hard. Or when my kid almost crashes my car.

Back pain: this winter refuses to end and I have shoveled a lot of fucking snow so yes, I have back pain. But I'm sure it will be alleviated by the consumption of beers on a patio that is surrounded by green grass.

Excessive urination: kind of depends on the size of the beers, don't ya think? Otherwise, I intentionally allow myself to get mildly dehydrated during the day so that I don't have to take the time to pee.

Leaking urine? Let's just say that I wouldn't chug a giant glass of water and then immediately jump on a trampoline.

Muscle weakness? Dude, wanna arm wrestle?

Excessive thirst: constantly, but you probably don't mean that kind of thirst.

Excessive cold intolerance: again, this winter can BITE ME!

Depression: no, not depressed. Occasionally irritated, frustrated, annoyed, flabbergasted, shocked and perturbed... absolutely. But not depressed.

Irritability: Oh I don't know. Let's see... have I had to repeat myself 17 times for a simple task to be completed? Are kids able to calculate departure times and get themselves up on time? Am I the only one that knows that the "crush crush mash" technique doesn't actually empty the recycling bin? Will that fucking dog quit ringing the damn bell telling me that he wants to go outside even though he's JUST BEEN OUTSIDE?

Cry easily? I don't cry. Unless someone makes a balls out attempt to hurt my feelings. And that last scene in "Philadelphia" with the home movies? Gets me every time.

Frequent illness? No, thankfully. But I do believe in keeping my hoo-haw healthy, which is why I make my appointment and am taking the time to fill out this form.

I'm in need of a little caulk

Once upon a time in 1998, back when TV's didn't hang on walls and bib overalls were actually considered fashionable pregnancy apparel, my husband and my pregnant-with-kid-#2-self moved into our current house. It was a brand new house, meaning no one else's ass had been on a toilet, leftovers hadn't rotted in the fridge and everything was shiny and new, including the caulk.

Now, three kids and a few pets later, certain components of the house have suffered wear and tear and despite my hyper anal-retentive tendencies and obsession with scrubbing tight spaces with a toothbrush, disgustingly colored stuff has grown in itty bitty corners and, well, the caulk has eroded which has led to moisture in areas of the house that aren't supposed to get moist.

And yes, you're correct: "moist" is probably the grossest word in the English language. Because even if it's used in reference to the weather or a piece of cake, the only thing anyone ever thinks about it when they hear it is best described as GUTTER BRAIN!

After I discovered the unwanted moisture, I realized that I needed to call someone to inquire about their caulk services. It felt weird, talking to a guy about how much he charged for caulk. Then he asked what color caulk I wanted. I said, "Well, white caulk I guess. And there's also a crack that will require some extra attention and definitely some caulk." Then there was an awkward pause, followed by him asking "So, what is your schedule like?"

Seriously, you guys, I WAS DYING! I mean, is it possible for a homeowner to ever approach this type of home maintenance or walk through Lowe's without totally snort laughing every time someone asks what kind of caulk they're looking for? Apparently, it isn't.

After a MM Facebook post that said "You know you're an immature homeowner who's jammed out a few kids when you hear 'someone is coming over to do some caulk work' and pretty much can't stop laughing, which makes you pee your pants a little," Christal, a reader/friend, sent me a message about her personal experiences with the humor of caulk. Apparently, her husband insists on asking the female employees at Home Depot where the caulk is, if it's white or tan, which kind is better, etc., while Christal stands there with a straight face, which is pretty much impossible because CAULK IS FUNNY! For example, she said there was a time she was at WalMart buying bread and caulk (this purchase, by itself, made me laugh) and the cashier was putting the items in two separate bags. She said dude, just throw them in the same bag and the cashier was all "no I don't want to get caulk all over your bread." She of course started laughing out of control and he just stood there and stared at her because apparently some people have no sense of humor because WHEN IS CAULK EVER NOT FUNNY? NEVER!

So, I of course told her that her story was super funny which started the following (potentially offensive but I don't give a shit) thread:

Me: Nothing ruins a sandwich faster than when you get caulk on your bread. And, as I'm typing, there's a guy in my bathroom with his ass in the air, getting caulk all over my shower.

Christal: What color caulk is it? lol

Me: He's a subcontractor working in the suburbs who is handy around the house, so obviously white caulk. haha And the caulk can't get wet for, like, 12 hours.

Christal: AHAHAHA Is it only shower caulk or is it the kind of caulk you can put in a window? Does it stretch? Can you paint it? Can we get a picture of the man smearing caulk in your shower? I'm getting a headache.

Me: Just the shower kind. We like to keep our caulk out of public view. Smearing... DYING! This joke WILL NEVER GET OLD! 

Christal: I've never seen black caulk. ?? I'm scared to google it. ... oh! They have it! I'll have to tell my husband!

Me: It must come in extra long tubes.

Christal: heheheheheAAAHAHA They even have pink caulk! "I need a little pink caulk..."

And then our awesome conversation ended because my repair fella came down the stairs and asked me if I needed caulk anywhere else, like in the kitchen.