The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
The way to a teenager's chore bone is through letting him have a friend over.
Sure. It lost a little something in translation. Doesn't really have a nice ring to it. But it speaks the truth. I can harp like the harpiest harpy who ever harped, until I'm as blue in the face as a Na'vi from the planet Pandora, and the #1 son won't lift a finger to clean up. Let the record show that he is paid extra allowance for chores over the basics like taking out the trash and helping Farmer H in the fields. And that he always needs money to feed his gadget habit. Still, no worky-worky.
Wednesday evening, he sprang the news on me that he might have friends coming out Friday evening. Not "might" as in, if I would allow it. He meant "might" as in, if they didn't have anything else to do. I did not like the idea. Told #1 that he would have to clean up the common areas, like the pool table/big screen room. And the basement NASCAR bathroom. The resistible force shook hands with the immovable object. The fallow fellow took the bait.
Not only did he don a pair of yellow Playtex gloves to scrub the toilet...he took the spigot assembly off the sink faucet and soaked the screen and screwy thing in vinegar. That's after he used CLR on it to no avail.
I can't believe it took me this long to find something to hold over his head. You know, what with me being nearly a member of MENSA and all.