Thursday, September 04, 2008

Can't we all just get along?

It appears as though this squeezing of households – our son’s and ours – still has a ways to go. I’ve never wanted a separate laundry room more than I do right now. It’s in the garage, which can give way to my ultimate fear – spiders.

While changing out the clothes from the washer to the dryer, I heard what sounded like twilight in my backyard. Cricket song. Many crickets, in fact. WTF? It’s midday. And what is that smell? Ah geez, #1 son’s bearded dragons’ food source, in a large plastic container. Great. I have freaking dragon McDonalds in my garage. For crying out loud, what if they get out, I screech at #1 son. I hate, hate, hate crickets. Almost as much as spiders. Relax, mom, sez he, they’re contained. Contained? For how long? Does this boy not realize that crickets are wily spawns of the devil, and they can climb out of anything?

Ok, so maybe my fear of crickets is a bit disproportional, but I have good reason. One of those bastards jumped on me at a lovely garden party one balmy summer evening a number of years ago. I screamed as if I’d been murdered with a rusty butter knife and tossed my drink into the face of the host. The host freaked and slammed into his wife’s Bloody Mary, spilling it over her white Ann Klein dress. The chain reaction was minimized by the confines of the swimming pool, which, to this day, still amazes anyone who discusses what has become known as Lynn’s Dumbass Stunt.

This won’t work, I tell #1 son. Those smelly little mud bugs have to go into the backyard. No, no, he protests, they’ll die if they’re outside. WHAT? That’s where they freaking live! I scream

Turns out that tolerance is the mother of malevolence, and I am destined to be held captive in its steely vise until hell freezes over. I will allow the damned crickets to invade my garage. But I swear on all that’s holy, that if I find one spindly legged creature in my Victoria Secrets, they and #1 son will take up residence under a freeway underpass.

Good god. I don’t need to write fiction because no one would believe my real life.

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