And every new boy that she meets, doesn't know the real surprise.
Here she comes, again."
If you didn't know these are the lyrics to "My Best Friend's Girlfriend" by the Cars, you know now. Yes, this is another reference to an 80's tune conjured up in the past couple of posts, but this is not a cry for help. It's just that lately, I'm reminded of this tune when I venture to investigate what misadventure my miscreants are brewing up.
They've taken to locking themselves away in the bedroom, bathroom or anyplace out of my sight and proceed to destroy-destroy-destroy. If my ears become keen to an uneasy quiet, I drop what I'm doing and stomp my way over. My footsteps pound like Sasquatch toward their soiree and then I hear the code words, "Hurry, hurry - here she comes."
Here she comes.
When I open that door or enter that room, I risk being blasted with sonar screams or pelted by water from a mildew-laden water gun or greeted to the aftermath of airborne toys and pillows - it's a bloody mess that could only be matched by Quentin Tarantino.
Last weekend, the four-year old dropped his precious little Lego figurine behind the spiral staircase. I went to retrieve it and in so doing, found a pair (why is it called a pair?) of underwear stuffed behind the big Lego box.
"How long has this been here?" I asked holding up the crumpled underpants.
The four-year old, happy that his Lego piece sustained no injuries, looked up at the evidence of chivalry and said, "Forty 100-days."
That's what happens when I fail to investigate - I find missing underpants in dark places and am left to ponder the premise of its concealment. It's disturbing.
Then there are times they inadvertently collect the evidence themselves, like when they get hold of my digital camera. From the depths of my drudgery - uh, I mean doing laundry in the basement - I heard the boys laughing while a camera shutter clicked away.
"Are you playing with mommy's camera?!"
The four-year old answered right away, "Noooooo!"
It's probably his idea because his tone is exceedingly condescending. As my footsteps announced my approach, the big brother sent the code, "Quick! Here she comes."
The camera is powered off but they haven't yet learned how to delete the images. Amongst pictures of doorknobs and life's view from their midget angle, there are a few funny shots. I really don't mind as long as they don't take picture taking tips from former Congressman Weiner.
|Evidence that they don't eat breakfast, they mutilate it|
|The Megatron close up and temporarily blinded|
|Picture of a fingertip - boy with tongue not included|