New blankety-blankety %$#*@# rule for Hunky Hubby: Before you leave on a trip, you must change ALL the smoke alarm batteries. I don’t care if you just did that a week ago!
It’s only when you’re not here that they decide to fail. One? Two? All of them? Who knows…I’m chasing annoying-as-feck, shrill beeps around the house. The small, portable step ladder isn’t tall enough for me to reach the damn noisemakers. I had to drag the large, unwieldy step ladder out of the garage.
Up and down the stairs. One beeped, I followed the sound to where I thought it originated, then it beeped on a whole different floor. My sense of humor is wearing thin. The wee Pocket Loonhound is cowering in a corner. The Bobtailed Dorkhound is not bothered by the noise, my frantic activity, nor my loud and fluent use of Sailor talk. He’s snoring, in fact.
I’m going to change all the fecking batteries. Then I’m going to throw the step ladder down the front steps (because that will make me feel better), stomp around the house while swearing profusely, then check to see if Lacey was so traumatized that she left me a present.
I have work to do, and this is interrupting it. Wonderful house guests will arrive soon and, while they’ve known me most of my adult life, they don’t need to be greeted by a profanity-spewing grump. I have to take the car in for an estimate, I need to stop by my friendly neighborhood FFL dealer, I have some house cleaning to do, and did I mention I have actual, real, pays-the-bills work that is not getting done while I rant and chase annoying beeps?!
Our next house will be one-story. Can’t someone invent smoke alarms that are all tied together, wired to the electricity, and hooked up to a generator in the event of a power outage? There HAS GOT to be a better way than the current, vexing smoke alarm method.
Either that, or Hunky Hubby never gets to leave the house again.