I live in a fraternity house. Beautiful works and dances all. the. time. I hardly see that girl. I am left alone in the house with the three guys. And it's like living with . . . three guys.
- My boys' bedroom looks and smells like a herd of goats lives in there. On second thought, that statement is insulting to goats.
- If the TV is on, chances are we're watching Dirty Jobs, Modern Marvels, anything involving drag racing, or Mythbusters. Especially Mythbusters. Because "they blow stuff up." Regularly.
- A few days ago, I was lying on my stomach reading a book. My loving husband knelt over me and lifted my blouse a little with his mouth. Feeling his warm breath on my lower back, I thought to myself, "Oooooh, kissing the small of my back, that's kinda hot." I was wrong. He was giving me a wedgie with his teeth. Oh, so romantic, that man.
- I mentioned before that Number One Son brews beer while he's away at school? This experimental operation has come home with him. My kitchen? Smells like a brewery. And a wet dog . . .
As if all that isn't evidence enough? Number One and his friends, to celebrate the birthday of our proud nation, like to do what I circumspectly refer to as, "altering fireworks." I try not to know too much about this particular endeavor. Except to say that I don't allow the product to be stored inside the house.
This afternoon I went to the home improvement store to pick up some flooring material. I drove Number One's SUV so I could lay the seat down and the flooring would easily fit. Before I could load the boxes into the SUV, I had to move my boys' hiking gear to one side of the vehicle.
While moving their gear, I came across the raw materials Number One uses in his "alterations." This made me suspicious that he was also storing the finished product in his vehicle rather than, say, in the garage where it wouldn't be jostled about?
I made a quick call to Number One. Speaking in code so the warehouse attendant wouldn't catch on to my illicit cargo, I asked him if his "project" from last week was in his vehicle. "Yeah," was the answer.
"Is it a problem if the flooring gets stacked on top of it?" I asked.
"Uh, yeah. That's not a real good idea."
Surreptitiously, I unearthed it from amongst the other junk and moved it aside while the attendant, none the wiser, loaded the flooring.
Still on the phone, "Son, this terrifies me."
"Why?! Are you kidding me?"
Imagining what the ramifications for his mother could actually be should something go awry, Number One offered to meet me so he could remove the danger.
Oh yeah--and as I write this, the boys are outside fabricating a "hot tub" (on this 90 degree day) using the garden hose, a 55 gallon drum and stones in a fire pit, the contents of which were ignited using highly flammable chemicals.
A frat house.
Need I say more?