DubyaTee. A few mornings ago, I was informed that I am W.T. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, that stands for White Trash. Yes, that opens up a whole other discussion on why we say "white" trash, and not any other kind of trash...fodder for another blog, for sure. At this point, we'll just go with the generic, insensitive terminology, acknowledging that it is just that. Now, although this observation was made in the most loving fashion, needless to say I was appalled. Mortified. Offended. I immediately began to formulate a clever defense to prove otherwise. The observation came about due to a discussion about the cat box, which had a problem I'd recently solved. Let me give you some background:

We have a cat. A fairly large cat. He's so large that on occassion he neglects to position himself in the cat box so as to avoid having his butt hang over the side. As a result, sometimes we discover that pee has collected outside of the cat box. Usually on the floor in between the bathtub and the litter box. Typically when this happens, he magically becomes Marc's cat, as in: "Marc, your cat peed over the side again..."

So, anyway, we discussed solutions to alleviate this problem. Some suggestions were:

1) A larger litter box.
2) A smaller cat.
3) Training the cat (ha!).
4) Living with it (ew).
5) Creating some sort of barrier to catch the pee before it hits the floor. Preferrably, a barrier that will funnel the pee back into the litter box.

None of the solutions seemed to make as much sense as #5. Since Marc was heading out of town for 2.5 weeks, I took it upon myself to engineer a feasible solution to this problem. I figured it had to meet the following criteria: Cheap. Easy to install. Easy to clean. Non-distracting to the cat (god forbid he stop using the litter box at all). Made with materials already found around the house (related to cheap. also related to lazy).

Armed with these guidelines, I began thinking, designing and devising a solution to our problem. I assessed the cat box. I assessed the supplies around the house. I assessed the criteria outlined above. I got an idea. Here's the solution I created:

If you can't really see it, click on the image for a larger view. It's Glad Wrap & masking tape. I've used the masking tape to secure the Glad Wrap both to the side of the tub, as well as to the interior of the litter box, before I poured the litter in. I think it's brilliant.

When Marc returned home after his 2.5 week jaunt, he evaluated my creation. I excitedly explained how it all came about and the benefits to my design. He stood alongside me, eyes on the cat box, and listened. I finished my glowing endorsement and awaited the accolades. I looked forward to hearing about my efficient and economical use of the materials at hand, my ingenious design and attention to detail, my analytical and creative mind. Instead, he turned to me, patted me on the shoulder, grinned and said: "Great, Lisa. A classic WT solution." I gasped. "What? WT? It is NOT." He nodded. "Oh, yes. Yes, it is. Sometimes it comes out in you. You can be soooo WT." "What?!?!" I protested. And the other person in the house at the time agreed with Marc. Humph.

So, here's my clever defense. Maybe it's not so clever, as all I've come up with so far is a list of characteristics that prove I'm absolutely not WT.

Note: In the interest of space conservation, I've shortened the original list.

Things that prove I'm not WT:

I don't even LIKE beer.

A trampoline has never graced my backyard.

I don't think long hair on guys is sexy.

Spam is unsolicited commercial email, not a viable food choice.

I don't have any desire to name my child after a city in Texas.

I had an in-ground pool once, but never an above-ground pool.

I have no velvet Elvises.

I concede:

I have a tattoo.

In college, I drove a black Mercury Capri with T-tops and gold rims. The T-tops leaked and I had to record my mileage b/c the gas gauge was non-functional. I ran out of gas a lot in college but I still thought I was hot shit.

I love corn dogs.

I once rode a zebra striped crotch-rocket motorcycle from Boston to Cape Cod, wearing my stylishly bleach spotted jeans that had the ripped out buttcheek patched with a red bandana safety-pinned in place.

I do that "farmer's blow" thing (you know - block one nostril and blow hard out the other to clear it. Recently, I blew the contents of one nostril onto Wyatt. It was an accident! He was biking too close! I don't think that's WT. I just think it's damn funny).

I've bathed in a steel tub. With a garden hose.

A friend of mine and I were trying to get rid of some unwanted male attention in high school, so we created and participated in a "spit for distance" contest. It worked.

I've hemmed dress pants with staples and scotch tape.

I had a dog named after an alcoholic beverage

Whatever your perspective on this, I'm confident that my WT-ness is not half as bad as I've been told. Could it be? Besides, what's so bad about being WT anyway??? We all have a little WT in us. You know you do.

On a final note, let it be known that WT solution or not, that Glad Wrap and masking tape design is still in place in the bathroom - and it's working like a CHARM. Yeeeeeehaw!