My bedroom doubles as my office. (OK, that sounds really bad. I'm not in THAT kind of business, for those of you with dirty minds. Or was I the only one with a dirty mind?)
Allow me to explain: I prop myself up on my bed with two pillows behind my back, rest my laptop on my Indian-style (should that be Native-American--I can't keep up with the PC anymore) folded legs, and develop what will undoubtedly become a finalist in the 2009 Weblog Awards. (Cjane is running scared. She's a cool one, though. She plays it off like she's all concerned about Autoblog when really it's the thought of ol' Grady next year that's keeping her awake nights.)
And I do this without bothering anybody; I completely mind my own business while I work.
So, why, for the love of all that is holy, does everyone have to bring their issues into my office???
Husband (talking to Daughter who is inexplicably in my bedroom): "Why is shampoo on your shopping list?"
Daughter (with a "You're an idiot" tone in her voice): "Because we need it."
Husband (with an "I'm not amused" tone in his voice): "Don't we already have a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom?"
Me: "Hello! In case you've both suddenly gone blind, I'm doing something here!"
Daughter (who is apparently not only blind, but also is deaf): "No. We don't have shampoo. We just have that Tea Tree shampoo stuff Mom likes."
Husband (after taking a deep breath): "So then the answer is yes, we do have shampoo?"
Daughter: "No, we just have Tea Tree."
Me (having been down similar roads many times in the past): "Can you two do this somewhere else, please?"
Husband (who apparently also has gone deaf): "So then we do have shampoo! Tea Tree IS shampoo, right?"
Daughter (in that ever-so-special teenage girl way): " Well, I guess--if you want to get technical about it."
Me (obviously in a frequency only dogs can hear): "Seriously, you two need to leave, NOW!"
Husband (losing it): "Technical? How is that technical? Does the bottle say 'shampoo' or not?"
Daughter: (clearly wanting the last word more than life itself): "I don't know what the bottle actually says, but it should say 'crap'."
Me (with that demonic, Linda Blair-ish edge to my voice): "GET OUT! GET OUT NOW!"
Then my head spun all the way around on my neck and they FINALLY LEFT MY OFFICE!