Is it wise to domesticate a Pirate?

Since I have taken the helm at home and become a self-employed, work from my home, lay-about Pirate, several daily tasks or chores have been hung around my neck. I have relieved the rest of the brood from dishwasher duties, laundry, picking up around the house, cooking dinner and taking out the garbage. Of late Mrs. Pirate has extended the "Pirate do" list by asking me to dust and mop and other minial tasks. I have taken to them as easy as the rest of my talents. Today she may have went to far.

First of all she needed me to help her take several items to her office. She had decided to treat all her co-workers with "Smoothies", a fruit and dairy blended concoction that are popular around our Pirate abode. So this morning I did my usual wake up have a diet coke (cold caffeine always comes first with me), then a cup, after the coffee does its job, down below, I stagger out to the car and wait for the two youngest. After taking Slick and Lil Sis and a two othr kids from the neighborhood to school, I return to take Jock and Mrs. Pirate to their daily stations. This morning after we dropped Jock off Mrs. Pirate reminde me that I had promised to go to Safeway this morning and purchase the items needed in the smoothies and to deliver them all to her job. Man! I tried everything to welch on the promise. I whined that I had dirty sweats and tattered shirt on. I hadn't even showered yet and smelt like yesterday's pits. My back hurt. I have amnesia. None of it worked. She wasn't buying.

I have never in my life been in my wife's office. I drop her off every morning and pick her up promptly at 5 pm, but never have I stepped into her office on the third floor of a state agency, an agency in a security building. I have met maybe one or two of her co-worker over the years but now I was looking more like a street person who would be better applied by standing on a corner with a cardboard sign pleading for nickles and blessing those who help me fill my gas tank then a businessman who works at home. I didn't even look presentable enough for a Pirate, least not one who would be meeting a covey of women.

With my protests squelched by the ruling party, Mrs. Pirate, I found myself in the atrium of a marbled building going through a security screening to see if I was a security risk (gotta love homeland security). After the little fellow, Ed, who appeared to be from India or Pakistan (I only bring up his country of origin because of the irony of an immigrant to Oregon screening a descendant from an Oregon trail family)determined that I was harmless he then awarded me a visitor's badge and made it very clear I had the badge for limited amount of time and was to return the badge promptly to him within the half-hour. If more time was needed I had to return to him and request additional time.

I finally made it to Mrs. Pirate's office where I fortunately got to meet many of her co-workers and deliver the blender and the smoothie goodies. Mrs. Pirate thought it funny to explain to her commrades how uncomfortable I was because of the lack of shower and the "man do you look like shit" outfit. I am thinking she works with some nice people who assured me there was no problem with them since they definately weren't the ones in my shoes. I made my exit as quick as i could and got the badge back to Ed.

Then when I got home I found several notes on the kitchen counter asking me to dust, mop, hand wash her green wool sweater and refill the "Tilex" spray bottle from the industrial quantity bottle. I figured no problem. I washed her beautiful green wool sweater that I proudly bought for her this last Christmas. A sweater that I was so excitd to get her after I saw her gren eyes glow when she first saw it in that swanky women clothing store. The sweater she was overjoyed to recieve on Christmas. I laid the hand washed and hand rung sweater on a towel laid over the counter. I laid it out so nicely and admired my first handwashing job. I got to thinking if this business doesn't work out I can always fall back on some domestic job or go live with the indigenous people because now, I am confident that I could wash clothes on a rock.

I then went about doing the other tasks, whistling as I worked, I dusted, I swept, I mopped, I refilled the "Tilex" spray bottle, further thoughts of Michael Keaton and his Mr. Mom movie. Man! I was getting good at this. Its not even 9 am yet and i have done more then most Marines will do all day.

After putting away my new tools of my newly found domestic vocation I noticed something terrible. Something that is going to get me killed. The beautiful Christmas-purchased-green-wool sweater was now as green as ever with large brown spots all over the front of the it. My God! what did I do?

When I was refilling the "Tilex" bottle I accidently slopped several drops across the front of the sweater. Shit I am dead.

Don't look at me, that's the way I found it.

Peace