A few days ago Science Teacher Mommy mentioned a friend on her blog who she called the ‘Queen of Food Storage.’ That got me thinking. What could I be the queen of?
I wondered if I could qualify as the Chicken Queen. I’ve got four leghorn hens, and I feed and water them every morning, and collect their eggs every day. I also saved our smaller sunflower heads, let them dry and now feed the seeds to the chickens. A few years ago I kept a detailed chicken account, tracking feed expenses against income from selling eggs. This time around I’m tracking my chicken input/output in my garden/farm/canning journal. But wait, that’s not all. Someday in the far, far, future we’re going to put in a large concrete driveway and a shop. At that time we’ll permanently move the dog run and set up the permanent chicken coop and run. I have been scheming about the perfect hen house – one where I won’t have to step into the coop or enclosure to feed, water or gather eggs. So far my design is all up in my brain, but any day now I plan to transfer it to graph paper. (When you take the time to draw your dreams on graph paper, carefully measured, labeled and to scale, husbands have a very hard time finding valid reasons not to run with your ideas.) P.S. My chicken coop design, as I conceive it now, will resemble an old-fashioned outhouse. Funny, huh!
You could call me the Queen of Poop. I know, it’s not a very glamorous title, but it’s the truth. Our dog is an outside dog, and her kennel is at the end of our driveway near our garage and our neighbor’s property. I don’t think it’s fair to make our neighbors smell our dog, and we don’t want to smell her either. So I scoop poop. Everyday. Sometimes twice a day. When Annie poops in the yard, my family is sure to let me know where it is so I can clean it up. I keep the scoopings in a lined bucket that get’s emptied into our ‘black beauty’ garbage can and taken to the curb every Thursday morning. We also have a garage cat. That means that he spends large amounts of time in the garage or out of doors. We have a kitty litter box for him in the garage. Guess who gets to scoop it? Me. Just think how well the title ‘Queen of Poop’ would fit if I had a child still in diapers. My oldest daughter, as an infant, did projectile poop during diaper changes. It was way worse than the golden arches that little boys sometimes nail their parents with!
By the way, this whole line of thinking has reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from The Princess Bride. You know, the part where Princess Buttercup is dreaming about her coronation and an old hag accosts her and cries, “Bow down to the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Putrescence…” Those are some mighty strong words. She probably didn’t know she was actually talking about me. (You’re welcome to bow if you want to.)
Hmmmm. What else could I be the queen of? The Queen of Routine. Yeah, that could be me. The Queen of Mean. Not my usual role, but on really hormonal days it probably fits. I’m not the Queen of Clean. That could probably go to Alison D. How about ‘The Quirky Queen?’ A lot of us could probably go by that title.
I bet there are people in your life who could rein under the following titles:
Queen of Carbs
Queen of Green (a real environmentally friendly kind of gal)
Queen of Lean (opposite of Jack Sprat’s wife)
Queen Kong. (Who reminds me of a favorite character from James Arrington’s ‘Farley Family Reunion.’)
Queen of Quackers (Sue Randalman, our former library director, comes to mind)
Queen of Spleen (What’s the official title for doctors that deal with spleens? Does that fall under internal medicine?)
Hairy Queen (our would ‘Queen Hairy’ sound better?)
The Marry Queen (the woman who has been married and divorced seven times.)
I should probably stop there.
Now that I’ve fully divulged my queenly roles, it’s your turn. What are you the queen of?