I'm going to visit more male-child moments. I can afford to do this because unlike Kim and a few others who will remain nameless, I don't have any boys smearing dirt on my walls and inhaling refrigerator contents.
Nor do I have a teenage male who feels it's his life call to drive me to the psych ward (in all uses of the word.)
That said. Come enjoy a slightly sanitized walk down memory lane.
Boyish pursuits at my house included, but did not limit themselves to, wrestling matches between Jordan whom I'll call Toad-Boy and his buddy whom I'll refer to as Grasshopper. (No, not as in the infamous Kung Fu reference, but as in appearance.)
Let's just say the boy's appendages were twice as long as necessary for his body and his body was really slow in catching up with them.
I rarely spend $35 on a vase.
I dare say I've done it just one time.
In case you haven't figured it out, this particular incident involves said $35 vase.
I'd been gone for a spell, probably dropping big bucks at the grocery store to feed Toad-Boy and Grasshopper.
When I returned I noticed 4 things. Eyeballs. Guilty dog-type eyeballs.
You know what that looks like -- flitting eye contact, a whole lot of white showing and a slightly off-center tilt to the area where "the incident" occurred.
"What's up?" I asked with a sigh. I knew. But I was hoping for a different answer.
Rapid-fire small talk erupted from the boys. Random hints were dropped. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.
"Is it broken?"
Oh well. One less thing to dust and a lesson learned. After all, $35 can buy a whole bag of groceries to feed those growing boys.
