I will never understand men. I accept this as fact and do not lose one more brain cell attempting to try. The male species is a complete mystery to me. The sad truth is that I am the sole source of estrogen in a testosterone-laden home. I am trying to teach the males in my home polite manners and a genteel persona. “Trying” being the accurate statement, I am also failing miserably. I must learn to accept the unavoidable outcome that boys will be boys. It also does not matter how old the “boy” is.
I am the only person who sits down to pee, pardon my vulgarity. Therefore, I am the only one in the house that can hit the toilet target, if you know what I mean. Cleaning the bathroom in my house requires a full haz-mat suit and gloves. I mean, really…the toilet opening is quite large, don’t you know. I am a wife and a mother of two sons. Let us also be clear, all three human males are ALL boy, complete with stinky sweat socks and the ever-present methane cloud surrounding them. I do not understand the humor of a loud fart or belch. If the fart was particularly heinous, that ups the ante for the next noxious emission. And where is mom during this methane fest? Gasping for air like a fish in a bowl, that is where! The other males of the house are the three Houdini Brothers, also known as Dinky, Dizzy and Doofus, or THE CATS. A friend once wrote that cats do not have owners; they have staff. That is certainly the case in our house. They walk around the house as if their poop does not stink. Guys, I have news for you…it does stink! For such small creatures, you three produce a vile stench. Just WHAT did you eat? I thought dog farts were bad. They are not even close to the lethal emanation of the Houdini Brothers. Women politely hold it in and wait for a discreet location to “fluff.” A woman would not cut loose on the Putt-Putt golf course in front of a party of four patiently waiting to tee off. The boys thought it was hysterical and then it became “game on.” The waiting party of four looked a me with accusation and recrimination in their eyes. Really, I did not teach them that; why are you looking at me? For moments like these, I wish I had a V-8 under the hood of my wheelchair instead of the half-dead hamster. Instead, I held my breath and choked out a stern warning to knock it off and behave like gentlemen, you too Rob. I was forced to inhale when the world began to spin and my face turned blue…BIG MISTAKE. All I could do was kick the half-dead hamster and slowly roll out of there, holding on to what was left of my dignity.
At some point, I must have lost my sense of humor. Every now and again, my humor will surface and make a brief appearance. For the most part, it seems to be hiding. Have you ever tried to watch TV with an all-male crowd? OMG-I am in Sponge Bob is an Ice Road Trucker in Untamed Alaska with the Turtle Man living with Swap People looking for Backyard Oil hell. Can we just watch sports like normal people? It is sad that a professional hockey player has more teeth than the others listed above. Are these people the extras from Deliverance? Do they really need to be seen?? I know they are around…I see them come down from the hills for NASCAR weekends at MIS. I can just imagine the $250K Class A motor homes parked next to the converted school buses with the hand painted signs about Jeff Gordon’s sexual preference. I do not need to see this on TV too! It feels like Beavis and Butthead versus The History Channel around here…
Please do not get me wrong, my boys can behave themselves. Rob also has been taught manners and I know that this behavior would not have been tolerated in his house growing up. He comes from a great family. However, he explains, it is okay to act a little silly every now and then. After all, do I really care about the opinions of complete strangers! No, I do not. Just please, oh please, aim your weapons downwind from mom! .