The #1 son has been driving me crazy this week. Not that he's been home all that much. He actually rises before the crack of noon, and then goes to his grandma's house, and from there to a local basketball tournament. It's the short time that we're confined in the Mansion together that gives me fits.
Wherever I am, that's where #1 is. I swear, he's as bad as his dad. If I sit in the living room, he plops on the couch. Not to have a meaningful conversation. Just to complain about what channel I put the TV on, or to blurt out words of wisdom during a critical quote on my show. Or he's forcing his laptop screen into my face to admire a photo he's taken with his outrageously expensive camera, or shoving his phone under my nose to illustrate some crony faux pas that garnered ridicule.
Yesterday, I was trying to make a cup of ice water. I do it every day. But #1 suddenly needed a cup of ice water at the same time. He stood behind me, tapping his bare, sweaty foot. "You're going to take all the ice!"
I moved to the sink. I turned on the water and held my cup of ice under the stream. #1 thrust his cup above mine, blocking the torrent. "Stop that! I was here first!"
"Get away. I'm getting water."
"Not now, you're not. I'll be done in a minute."
Another time, I came in from picking him up lunch in town to see him wash his hands and sling water all over the kitchen.
"Hey! Stop it!"
"You know better. Get a paper towel."
"I don't need one. They're dry now. Besides, we're out."
"Get a roll out of the pantry."
"And don't let me catch you doing that again."
"You know what. You slang water all over the floor!"
"Don't deny it. You slang it. I saw it with my own two eyes. And don't even try to tell me there's no such word as "slang"!"
"Ha, ha. I know "slang" is a word. But not like that."
"I'll use it how I want. And don't you forget it."
Sometimes, it's tedious to have a 34 on the ACT living under your Mansion roof.