So we’re painting over here at the Jedi Manor, and I enjoy painting about as much as I would enjoy scrubbing down the very public restrooms in a truck stop on the busiest highway in America.
The truck stop bathrooms where the potties are blackened.
And the mirrors are so filmy, you cannot see your face.
And where there is never any soap in the dispenser at the sink.
And where the sink is actually missing, because Bubba the Knee-Breaking Bounty Hunter found one of his clients’ nemesis there, which resulted in an altercation. An altercation that was so intense, the sink fell off the wall. And there it continues to sit, on the floor.
And where the overhead light flickers… on… off… on… off... until you feel like it’s 1982 again, and you’re at the local roller rink with the strobe light flashing, but sadly, Joan Jett isn’t singing about how he was just seventeen, if you know what I mean.
Thankfully, we’re only painting baseboards, which seems like a small job, when you compare it to painting… say… our walls, which go up, up, up to sixteen feet. The extra tall walls weren’t MY idea when we built this house; they were Hubs’ idea. I think he had every intention of bagging a moose and doing a full body-mount, which he planned to hang on our walls, but then he was referred to Article 6-B, Section 532, Paragraph IV, which says, “If it was once alive, it does not hang on the walls of our home. Ever. Period. Under the threat of a good HI-YA karate chop to the noggin.”
I imagine that you can understand that I’m in a bad mood, what with all the painting going on. I think suffering from a severe case of PMS might be easier right now, because I could just eat a bag of pretzel M&Ms and call myself sedated and cured.
Then the boy came home from school this afternoon and announced that yes! And indeed! He really HAD played poker during recess with pencil erasers as chips. I was stunned. When did my baby replace Go, Fish with Texas Hold ‘Em? I asked him precisely this question, and he said, “Mom, you play poker at sleepovers. If you played Go, Fish there, you’d get made fun of. Go, Fish is for little kids.”
Little kids? Because you’re… what? Fifty now?
I then asked him when he had learned the RULES for poker. He said, “I learned it in my Dangerous Book for Boys, that Aunt Pink sent me. It has everything in it that a boy should know.”
So… you know… GOOD-BYE, CHILDHOOD. Next stop, DRIVER’S LICENSE and SHAVING. I can’t say that I’m a real fan of my baby growing up, but I suppose that it was inevitable.
Aunt Pink is on my list now for exposing him to books that teach him how to win at 5-Card Stud and how to start small fires with magnifying glasses and how to make spitballs seriously stick.
If she doesn’t watch it, she’s going to get some consequences dished out to her.
She’s going to find herself sitting on my hardwood floor, painting baseboards.