Big Daddy Paul

I have a problem. It’s not the problem you might think, considering the title of this post, but it is a problem nonetheless. I can’t put anything away. Long time readers already know about the various things lying around the house that have never been put away, but my problem extends into other aspects of my world.

My wallet is a disaster. In it, is every receipt that I have been given in the last two years. In addition, I have loyalty cards for cheesesteak restaurants, membership cards from video stores (in Reno and Davis), and betting slips from the horsetrack and sportsbooks. The sad thing looks like a worn out old sofa, with stuff sticking out in every direction trying to make an escape.

This is particularly dangerous development when I hang out with my softball team, for we spend a lot of time betting on things, and the size of the bet is always a dollar. Wondering who will get more hits that game? Bet someone a dollar. Think you know the name of the obscure band who’s song is singing on the jukebox? Put a dollar on it. One time I bet a guy as to how many times one of the boys would look at his cards during our weekly poker game before he either bet or folded. (The answer was 7, and I won).

The end result of these dollars flying all around is that I come home with many, many dollar bills in pocket. At the end of a long night of drinking and gambling, I usually am quite put out after the laborious task of taking my wallet out of my pocket. So, the dollar bills get left behind, and only see the light of day when I prepare my monthly task of washing my pants. Since I am a complete train wreck, I typically leave the dollars wherever I am when I check the pockets. That is why we have dollar bills on the top of my dresser, the floor of the closet, the top of Amy’s dresser, the foot of the washing machine, the desk in the kitchen, all over the office, and on top of the entertainment center. (I wanted to call it a credenza, but only old people have credenzas and I don’t want to be an old person yet.)

So, every Thursday morning, our cleaning lady, Rosie, scurries about the house, making us look like we are not complete slobs. In the process, she gathers up all the little wads of cash, and places them nicely in a pile on top of the “not-a-credenza.” I can only assume what she thinks I use them for, but honestly it is not that. Amy if you are reading this, it is not that. I swear. This whole convoluted story is the real reason.

Tags: gambling, messiness

One Response to “Our Cleaning Lady Thinks I Am Addicted to Strippers”

1. Janet says:

   August 10, 2009 at 9:08 pm

   I believe you.
   What do you use your loyalty cards to cheesesteak restaurants and membership cards to Reno video stores for?

   Reply