Wednesday, January 7, 2015

He's BAAAAACK!

How do you know when the #1 son if feeling better?

You come home after a hard day at work and your retirement seminar and washing your mom's dishes by hand, a 14-and-a-half hour day, and find a towering stack of dirty dishes including, but not limited to: a skillet, a sauce pan, two large plastic bowls, a measuring cup, seven spoons, three sharp knives, two forks, two spatulas, a colander, two beaters from the mixer, and a tea-stained cup.

Somebody's appetite is back!

Oh, and he fixed my broken internet but won't tell me how, only baits me and switches to a screen that shows me how many bytes I have left until the end of the billing cycle. Which makes me suspicious that he broke it so he could hold me hostage until he fixed it.

THEN, when he declared that I came in and started washing those dishes, which had lolled around the kitchen counter since noon, without even asking if anybody wanted me to wash them, and did not even speak to him, I had to remind him that yes, I DID speak to him.

"THANKS A LOT!" Yes. Those were my very words upon entering through the kitchen door. I THANKED him. Thanked him for not leaving on a porch light, necessitating the illumination of the Christmas lights strung along the soffits, and for having the kitchen door locked so that I had to rummage for my keys in the pitch dark, as no Christmas lights adorn the back porch, and almost get frostbite while trying to find the hole in the lock. So there. I not only spoke to him, I THANKED him. In a not-very-nice way, but still, in print, it is a true statement that I thanked him.

And he was not even amused when I went all the way to the long couch and stood over him waggling the end of a hemp-looking belt like a cobra, singing "Dee dee dee, dee dee dee dee dee dee dee" like a snake charmer's flute, asking him to tell me how my internet had been fixed. And he was pretty jumpy when he sat up and turned his back to avoid me, and I tapped him on the shoulder with my index finger, and he flinched like a real cobra was after him.

Yes. I'm glad he's back from the precipice overlooking the chasm of the bunker sealed by death's door.

4 comments:

Sioux said...

If you could just slow down his dirtying-the-dishes speed but make him healthy...THAT might be nice...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
If only, if only...

I actually tried to quote that to him last night, but he said I should never be allowed to speak those works, because I mangled them so badly that they needed a week in intensive care.

Yeah. He's on the mend.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

It is good that you have recorded all this, for when he has a child of his own.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
Or for evidence if I ever go on trial.