Spy in the Dirty House of Uncool

For those you just tuning in, it is Cleaning Day at the Uncool Estate. The youngest member of the family, Thing 2, has agreed to a top-secret mission (it appeared right here on this blog, so we know no one read it, but us). He must spy on the lovely ladies who wipe his pee dribblings off the bathroom tile once a week to determine whether they are involved in an international conspiracy to "hide" every "valuable" my "children" leave about. The following is For Your Eyes Only.

0730 hours:

Two Polish women in shorts and T-shirts flip flop down my drive. The drop off has occurred earlier than expected.

Agent 00T2 is fast asleep. I shake him out of fuzzy blue PJs with the racecars on them.

"Dang it man! They're here! Arise! You've got a mission."

I think about slapping him. Slapping him awake. Yeah. But I don't. Damn you, Dr. Spock!

0734 hours:

My Love, who unexpectedly decided to telecommute today, visits Uncool HQ and files the following query: "Do the cleaning ladies always wear such short shorts?"

"We can neither confirm nor deny that report," I reply. "I'm just sitting here … reading the world's funniest blogs."

I feel for the cyanide capsule in my belt buckle.

Note to self: On cleaning day, when wife is home, wear pants.

0743 hours:

Agent 00T2 is found lying, upside down and asleep, in a chair in the living room.

They've drugged him! I knew, despite that inviting purple color, those Fabuloso fumes were toxic!

"Dude! What the dealio? Get on the stick and spy!"

And off he goes, tiptoeing to the corner. He peaks around it.

The dog jumps and plants a wet one across his face. 00T2 is down and crying.

Dang, Double Agent Fur Ball! I knew his tail was wagging a little too hard when they scratched him behind the ears and cooed in their Polish baby talk!

0746 hours:

Agent 00T2 is crawling up the stairs on all fours. Full sneakiness mode engaged. Yes! Now he'll see if "folding laundry" is just a metaphor.

0832 hours:

I find 00T2 in the basement, watching "Phineas & Ferb." I ask for a status report.

"The one with brown hair is mopping the floor. The one with blond hair is wiping the table."

"Good, but I need more detail. What are they saying?"

"I don't know. I don't understand them."

"Code, man. They speak in code! It's like those Poles have a different word for everything!"

He looks askance. I stand akimbo. We dance a mambo.

"Now, get to work before I Kung Fu Panda your hiney!" I order.

1026 hours:

I return from disposing of Double Agent Fur Ball for ride. He'll get his later ... from the shedding blade and the toe-nail Dremel.

00T2 is chowing down a bowl of Fruit Loops. I ask for another status report.

"They folded the clothes. Now, they're cleaning the basement."

"Any suspicious activity to report?"

"What's that mean?"

"Are they doing anything wrong? Have they hidden any of your Hot Wheels cars behind the potted plants? Have they put your sister's American Girl dolls in the dishwasher? Have they placed the TV remotes in the crisper drawer under the moldy green beans?"

"Uh … no."

"So, what have the cleaning ladies done today?"

"Cleaned the house."

"And …?"

"Picked up my stuff."

"And they put your stuff where?"

Pause.

"Where it's supposed to go?"

"So, the next time you and your sister can't find your cra … stuff, are you going to whine to me that the cleaning ladies have hidden it?"

"Noooooooo."

"And if you do complain, I reserve the right to tickle you until you pee your Batman underpants, right?"

"Daaaaaaad! "

Mission … accomplished. On to Iraq!

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One last point of note to my pub crawling blogging homey, JT of Blog Stamford, and other single men living in and around the Stamford area. Do not attempt to flirt with the heavily accented, chesty blonde bar maiden at Bobby V's Sports Gallery by using the following lines:

You: "How long have you been here from Poland?"

Her: "Eighteen months. How did you know I was from Poland?"

You: "You talk just like the women who clean my house every week."

Just trust me on this one.

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Now, please go to Humor-Blogs.com or kittens will die.

Song: "Spy in the House of Love," Was (Not Was)