It never ends with Annie.   She went to the parade on Saturday.    She popped in a couple times, once when I was making Macaroni Salad so she could lick the tuna cans which she had a huge fit over because I threw them away.   She came again when I took the peach cobbler out of the oven, because she adores sweets.  She took a big bowl with ice cream and teleported back to the festivities after the parade.

Around midnight, I heard her coming up the stairs.   I knew something was going on because I could hear her screaming, “Freaking help me Kiko, I can’t walk to good with this.”   I figured she had some big animal, or maybe a live shamrock or something.   It’s Annie you never know.   And that is when I heard it.    I can not actually describe it but it sounded sort of like a cross between broken bagpipes and a drunken duck.

By the time I got to the door, Annie was there.   Kiko was behind her holding something up.   I heard the noise again and then smelled the worst stink ever.   I turned the light on and saw it!  Then Annie started screaming, “Slam I have bagpipes stuck in my rear.”

She did…the bag on it was huge and it was making this noise and stink could be seen coming from the pipes, yes those animated stink lines were all over it.    Then Annie screams, “I ate burrito’s and I have die-a-rear!”   She was farting and pooping and every time she did the bag got bigger.   I was just about to screaming, “Annie what the heck!”, when the bag exploded and stinky burrito poop covered my entire kitchen.    I screamed but not what the heck, it was something else.   I was covered in poop, it got in my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

“Get those bagpipes out of your butt Annie and clean this mess up,” I screamed as I turned to go to the shower.   As I walked away I heard Annie yelling,  “pull Kiko, pull.”

When I came out of the bathroom, Annie minus the bagpipes and Kiko were in the chair clean and curled up watching tv.    The stink lingered but all seemed peaceful.    I asked if they had cleaned the kitchen, and Annie said they had.    Since I was watching my grand daughter the next day and knew I would need my sleep so  I never bothered to check, I should have.

Of course, Annie had not cleaned any of it, claiming that it smelled and if it dried it would be easier to clean.    I tried to get her to help me clean it but she was in her ‘religious’ mode and could not possibly miss church so guess who wound up cleaning it all.   Thankfully, with bleach and magic erasers and a ton of elbow grease I was able to get the kitchen in order and ready for my grand daughter.

Annie had been insisting that she was ‘in charge’ of my granddaughter ever since I agreed that my granddaughter could come for an over night.   ‘After all,” Annie insisted, “she is my sister.”  Since Annie calls my daughter, Mom, she insists she is a sister to my grand daughter.   However it depends on her mood.   Sometimes she is grandma Annie.    No matter the relation Annie always claims to be more related to her than anyone else in the family.

Annie rode with us to go get her and things were running pretty smoothly. We got through an entire evening with no problems.     We took them on an outing,  the next day and I was terribly worried about the mall because Annie can be so obnoxious.    I told Annie she had to ride in her back pack which she did nice and calmly, which was a change because normally I hate taking her shopping.    Sometimes she will ride in the backpack or ride in the cart calmly, other times she demands a scooter and we have to go get her a bike horn and she beeps it at everyone.     Sometimes she drives over people, then beeps her horn and screams, “Get out of the way, I am disabled!”   It’s horrible but worse is when she is calm because I know I will pay for the calmness.

We get home and I change the baby and sit her up to the table for lunch.   I realize she hasn’t had a poop diaper yet and since she is going home I sort of hope she is holding off for a few hours and she will be home then  Mom can deal with it.    She eats her lunch and gets down and is running around when I smell a stink.   I check the diaper and it’s one little turd, no biggy.      I announce that she needs to be changed again and Annie says, “I will do it Slam.”

Helpful Annie to the rescue.   I say, “No Annie.  Don’t.  I can handle this.”   Her response is, “Sure Slam, no problem.”   I should have known, fourteen years with this cat, I should have known, she wouldn’t listen or stick to her sure Slam.

I get the diaper and the wipes together, literally it’s minutes and I hear, Annie screaming, “Go Philly go.”  Then laughter.   Both Annie and the baby are laughing.   I walk into my bedroom and here is a diaperless baby, running around on my bed laughing with her tongue out.   My bed is covered in poop and the dirty diaper is hanging from the ceiling fan which is on full speed and poop is flying all over the room.

Annie looks at me in full innocence and says, “I got the diaper off for you.”   I scream, ‘Annie why?  And it was one turd, how could it have made this much of a mess?”   Annie’s response, “Slam, I still have die-a-rear and I had to go so I pooped in the diaper after I took it off and it stinked really bad so I had to throw it.”

No words, I just subserviently cleaned it up like I always do.    Next time I hope she just acts up at the mall.    It’s easier.   And now, I will be watching my granddaughter every other Sunday, it was short notice but since I didn’t have plans I agreed.   I am hoping that with such short notice, Annie would not be available but I saw her checking her calendar and make phone calls so I doubt I will be watching her solo but since I am watching her at my daughter’s house, she can deal with Annie’s messes.









Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.