Boys and their Toys

I'm trying really hard to find the funny in this one - but I can't. I'm sick. There's very little funny in sick. I'm trying to remember a time when all four of us were sick at the same time - I don't. I guess that living in close quarters in the apartment away from home has done this to us. Hubby got it first, then Favorite Son. Her Royal Cuteness was diagnosed with pneumonia at the start of the week. So now I have the crud, and it sounds like bronchitis to me. The only funny I can find is that we are full of phlegm and that is a great word. Phlegm, phlegm, phlegm, it even is spelled like you are choking on it. So, I will attempt to relate a story through the thick foggy mucus in me...it is so hard to hear the voices in my head when my ears are ringing like this.

My hubby and I went over to the house Saturday morning to check on a few things. He wanted to put fertilizer in the backyard before the expected rain. Our backyard is one of our favorite things. We've worked hard over the years to make it a real pretty place. Now it is overgrown and full of bits and pieces of shingles and insulation that got blown up with our roof. Maybe if he fertilizes it enough, the debris will grow into little houses! He is excited to buy new yard whacking tools and take to the overgrowth. I think it makes him feel like Tarzan, plowing through the dense jungle underbrush. I guess that makes "Me, Jane."

I am painting a design on Her Royal Cutenesses wall and needed to do some touch up. The house-painters are giving me a hard time about this project (all in good fun). I made a spacing mistake and wanted to start covering it up so that they have less ammunition in our verbal scuffles when they return next week.They constantly come into the room to stare over my shoulder at what I am painting and make comments on little minuscule things that aren't up to their standards. Apparently I cannot even use painter's tape correctly...the head painter showed me that I had put it on the wall -not the trim - for about 1/8th of an inch.Why is it that men can spot something like that from across a room but can't see the dirty dish in front of them on the coffee table?

We open up the house and go looking around at the progress and to see what new things have been added or fixed. The rebuild is supposed to be done at the end of this month - so there is a lot of activity during the week. We climb upstairs and there above my head protruding from the ceiling is a giant boob. Of course, not a real boob or even a silicone implant. It is a light fixture that looks just like a huge breast - erect nipple and all. I look down the hall and there is the other one (left or right - I'm not sure - but they did come in a pair!).

"No!" I say. "That isn't right!"

Silence from hubby...

"These aren't what we had before. They look like boobs!"

Still silence...

"Did you hear me? These are coming down. I don't want these!" I am approaching my breaking point and look at him.

There he stands, staring at the giant boob with a childlike grin on his face.

"I'm really liking these," he says without moving his head from its upward facing position."They look like boobs."

I refrain from smacking the shit out of him and march off to do my painting.

I guess that boys will be boys and they never grow out of the fascination with boobies. He may not "support" me on this one, but those humongous tits will only be dangling from the ceiling of the house until the builder gets back on Monday!