Argh

I think I've discovered my superpower.

It's the uncanny ability to stuff my Evil Genius Husband's poor, wee car (a 92 Toyota Camry) with more things than is actually physically possible. And, for what it's worth, I do it all the time.

I can get nine crates of chickens (regular wooden peanut crates) in it, no problem. It can carry 10 bags of feed (500lbs) plus me (another 500lbs), easily, although if I push it to 14 bags I have to slow to a crawl over speed bumps or risk scraping the petrol tank clean off.

I really should tour the country, taking bets on how much stuff I can get in the car, raking in unsuspecting yokels and making a mint in a Paper Moon style scam.

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I was going to blog about two ugly, rude, white trash women I saw in the KFC Wednesday, but just recalling them makes me gag. Let me just say that I HATE whinging, bitching, women. I can't stand a woman who whines about every effin thing like this cow and her daughter in the KFC. Who lives with these gals? Can you imagine?!

I've worked with them all my life. Constant complainers. Nothing is ever right, everything is wrong and someone ELSE needs to fix it. They bitch about their kid's school, their kid's teachers, their kid's coaches, their jobs, their bosses, the service at return counters, the service in restaurants ...

(KFC flashback:)

"Yes, Ma'am we have this special .." *points to sign which clearly states what's included*
(in that horrible nails-on-blackboard belligerent whine) "But I don't want any legs, does it come with legs?"
"Yes, ma'am, it will have two ..."
"I want breasts instead, give me breasts instead of legs ..."
"I'm sorry, ma'am but with specials we can't --"
"...and I hate wings, I want breasts instead of wings, too ..."
"I'd be happy to do substitutions but I'd have to charge you a little bit extra .."
"What sort of service is that? All I want is one different piece of chicken ..." (glances around at impatiently waiting crowd for sympathy)
"I'm so sorry, Ma'am ..."
"FINE! Just give it to me like it is!" (angrily roots in purse, muttering loudly: "never come here again ... what does she think ..")

What causes a woman to be like this? I mean, we all have stuff to complain about, perhaps more than others, but ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME? And in that voice! That Lucille Ball/Fran Dresher shrill whine! ARGH!

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Ok, I'm better now. I swear.

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Well, I've been spectacularly unsuccessful in fixing the washer.

Evil Genius Husband got me a new voltmetre which I've plied eagerly. Everything seems to check out. But the freakin' thing doesn't work. *sigh* So I'm off to buy a new washer as every bit of clothing in the house is dirty and my baby has been in disposable nappies for days.

Have I already said "argh" in this post?