There are few things in life that I actually hate. The h-word is such strong verbage, that I really don't like to use it. In fact, it is a rule in the Mario house that you are not allowed to say you "hate" anything (or anyone, for that matter). But, there are a few times that the word pops out of my mouth and I actually, really, truly mean it. One of these most loathed instances is when there are grapes on the floor.
Ooh, this really gets my goat. This afternoon I was talking with a dear friend on the phone and I needed the two smaller Goombas to just hush for a moment. "I know!" I thought to myself. "They are hungry for a snack so I will set them at the table with some grapes. That oughtta keep 'em occupied!" I gave them each a large bunch of grapes and went about my telephone business. They were quiet, which should have been my first clue that something was up, but I was relishing the silence and the opportunity to actually hear what my friend was saying on the end of the line. About 20 minutes passed, I said good-bye to my buddy and I turned back towards the kitchen table. "Hey kiddos! Thanks for being so good while Mommy was--" SMOOSH!
AAAAAAAK! I just stepped on a damn grape. When I lowered my eyes to the floor, I saw an overabundance of grapes rolling around under the table, under the chairs, heading towards the living room and down the hallway. What had the Goombas done to occupy themselves? Instead of EATING the grapes, they pulled each one off the bunch and tossed it to the floor. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I chanted to myself, "I love being a Mom, I will not sell my children to gypsies. I love being a Mom, I will not sell my children to gypsies..."
Do you have any idea what a pain in the tush it is to clean up grapes? It is like trying to sweep up thousands of tiny little balls into one pile. Ok, thousands might be a small exaggeration, but really, try it sometime, you will think thousands as well. And since the sweet little orbs like to roll all over the place at the slightest nudge, you are sure to always end up with at least one under your foot. It goes a little something like this... Sweep, sweep, roll, sweep, smoosh. (repeat) Then, when you finally manage to corral all un-smooshed grapes, you look around and realize there are several little squishy piles of grape goo that you now have to wipe up. Wonderful. I have to ask myself...was 20 minutes worth of a quiet phone call worth it?
I think now it is time for Mommy to enjoy some grapes. The juiced, fermented kind that you find in a bottle and pour into a fancy glass.