|Sure, you may have prehensile thumbs |
and can make tools.
But, can you do this, wiseguy?
As the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months (detect the pattern here?), the angst we felt at letting our children go was slowly replaced by newfound peace. You mean we could pretty much do what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it? The television wasn't tuned into the brain-sucking parasite of MTV on a nightly basis? I could fart and not have to worry about traumatizing any of my daughter's friends?
NOTE: I still blamed it on the dog, though. He was so busy licking himself he didn't care.
Did you see what they were doing to each other??
You mean mine is gonna look like that!!??
My sister, an experienced empty-nester, consoled me with the sentiment, "I told you you'd love it. Eventually, the kids coming home will be an imposition."
Yeah, I know. The old softy oughta work for Hallmark.
While I don't consider their visits impositions-rather, I thoroughly enjoy when they come home-I see her point.
|No toilet. No sink. No kidding.|
As you know, I was remodeling the master bathroom this January. While I didn't replace the shower, I did pull out the toilet and sink. So, even though I could take a shower before work, I did need to use other facilities if I wanted to brush my teeth or foul the air.
One morning, after my shower, I decided to brush my teeth (I'm considerate of the human race that way). As I wasn't yet dressed and didn't feel like putting my robe on, I thought I'd just nip over to the kids' bathroom. It was only about 20 feet away, it was dark out, and, besides, it was 5:30 in the morning. The only one who might be up was Mrs. Penwasser. Who cares if she saw me in the altogether, anyway? After all, she signed up for sickness, health, and "OH MY GOD HE'S NAKED!!" almost 27 years ago. She had a life sentence.
The kids, home on Christmas Break, wouldn't be up until the crack of noon, so I figured the coast was clear.
NOTE: You know where this is going, don't you? This is known by pretentious writers as "foreshadowing." I think.
What I had forgotten is that my son had agreed to accompany his mother to work that morning to make a few extra dollars.
NOTE: Okay, if you don't know where this is going by now, how long have you been reading Penwasser Place?
|Nothing to see here, move along. |
Padding quietly to their bathroom, I didn't want to make a noise so as to not wake Mrs. Penwasser or the kids. I didn't care too much about the dog. He had passed out from exhaustion after an all-night "Hey, bet you can't do this, Penwasser!" session.
As I reached the bathroom door, it flew open. Standing in front of me was my son, who immediately shrieked (a manly shriek) and covered his face. Making retching sounds, he gasped, "Oh, my God!" before disappearing into his room.
Only much worse.
|It's an elephant! |
Seriously, what's wrong with you?
Even though Mrs. Penwasser lambasted me that afternoon with a "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you some kind of nudist? Bad enough I have to look at it, you put our kids through that!?"
Defending myself, she finally agreed that it could have been much worse. It could have been our daughter.
We wouldn't have been able to afford tuition or years of therapy.
So, we're good that way.
By the way, I shower in my bathing suit now.
|The preceding story was not about Dick. |