Wow, No Thank You - Samantha Irby Page 0,65
tomato that rolled under the unreachable corner cabinet: what’s gonna happen to it
where is the circuit breaker and why didn’t I think to look for it before plugging in the window unit and a hair dryer in the same outlet
how old do I have to be before I get to literally yell “get off my lawn” at the children trampling my goddamned grass
can “drafty” be an aesthetic
is the UPS man judging me
LMAO, I’m not ~pruning a tree~
why is so much furniture made solely for decoration
do I have to wash this mop, and if so, where
how long before someone calls the police on me thinking I’m breaking into my own damn house
I got my lady a biweekly cleaning service last Christmas (in case you don’t feel like googling “how can I be romantic”). I can feel your judgment, like, “OH, OKAY, MONEYBAGS,” but even if I had to go clean someone else’s house to pay someone else to come clean my own, I would do that, because is there anything more horrifying than having to confront your own dirt or acknowledge the things you’ve resigned to remain in a state of “kind of dirty”? Like, how clean can that tight spot behind the toilet actually get? Can I really be expected to regularly dust the top edge of every picture frame? I’m afraid if I inch the refrigerator to the right just enough to force a mop between it and the cabinet it’s stuck to, a creature is going to jump out and bite me. Am I the one who should be trusted to get the grates clean, and more important, does it matter if they aren’t? Even if I bleach that plastic mat we leave the winter boots on, some moron is going to sneeze some deadly strain of influenza directly into my mouth the next time I go outside, so what difference does it actually make?
Have you ever purchased blinds before? I mean, have you ever sat in the place where you live while a person with a Trapper Keeper full of faux bois blind samples comes to your home and presents the options for you as if you have any idea at all what the fuck he is talking about? It’s magical! Yesterday, a gentleman named Jeff came into this house, whose gutter debris I am actively ignoring, in a truck with his phone number printed on it, and slowly and methodically hung blinds that he’d cut specifically for windows he’d precisely measured. If I could bottle and sell the feeling I had watching him complete this task I knew I wasn’t cut out to perform no matter how many times incredulous home improvement experts had scoffed in my face while shouting, “Just go to Lowe’s,” I would have Bezos money.
is it ever worth it to try to fix something in my home myself like what is really going to happen I should just hire a guy right
who the fuck do these squirrels think they are?
if this table is not real wood, do I actually have to polish it
I thought HVAC was a slang term for a badass, like HBIC
take the shower head off?? With what?!
is a linen closet supposed to be organized in some other fashion than “rifled through”
at what point do you just throw away the stove
what’s really going to happen to that bacon grease I poured down the drain
what is “insulation”—or wait, is it called “installation”
Listen, I don’t know how to live in this house I live in with my lady and her kids now, and I know that. I mean, I knew when I arrived with a car packed full of books I’m never going to read and placed open bags of cat litter spilling all over it in the driveway—whose cracks I wasn’t aware until two weeks ago that I am now expected to monitor and fill and pave over—that I wasn’t cut out for living in more than four hundred and fifty square feet of space. I’m