The #1 son was planning to have a paintball shindig this Friday, but he has moved it a week ahead because of his cronies' schedules. I think it's too hot for paintball, but kids will be sweaty little pain inflictors. I told him I don't care what day he has it, as long as they stay out of the Mansion. It's just too much for me to suffer 4 to 6 strapping yapping lads traipsing in and out at will. #1 can't just have a simple paintball battle. He has to have an overnight gabfest. Since he reached the age of 12, that little party has been relegated to the BARn. Last time, I made HH put away all of his alcohol. Not that there is a lot of alcohol in the BARn. Mostly, it is soda and some snacks that HH thinks he is hiding, a couple of beers, and maybe a bottle of apfelkorn or some such elixir that HH has picked up on his travels, before you couldn't carry alcohol on a plane.
I told #1, "I guess your dad will give you a pee pot again and you won't come over here for the bathroom." That was totally HH's doing. I was all for them going outside to take a whiz. In fact, #1 declared that he DID go outside, that only a couple of guys used the pee pot. Anyhoo, that is neither here nor there. I asked him if they ever swept out the loft, which is where they sleep, which is a big room HH made into a bar, with a TV mounted up by the ceiling, and a red-and-white checkerboard tile floor, and girly beer trays displayed on the wall, with bar stools and a bar and a mini-fridge. #1 said, "No. We don't sweep it out. I tell the guys to leave their shoes by the door. It's not that dirty. And anyway, I don't sleep on the floor. I take that old waterbed with that air mattress in it. You know, the one with the built in cabinets under it where we found the sleeping bags that the mice had shredded."
EWW! I said that I couldn't imagine sleeping on top of a thousand baby mice. They have to be in there. If they saw evidence of one, there must be millions by now. #1 said I was overreacting. "Mom. We burned the sleeping bags. There's nothing in there now. It's fine. And besides, that's not the worst thing. You know that back room that dad was going to use for a kitchen and bathroom? The one with the toilet and stove and microwave sitting there? Well, we use the microwave. But when we open the door to go in there, you know that big hole cut in the back of the barn, where dad was going to put a window but just screwed a screen over the opening? It's always covered with wasps trying to get in, and when you look out under the eaves, you can see giant wasp nests! It's kind of creepy, really."
Yes, parents. Send your adolescents to my house. They will be fine. I'm sure none of them have even thought about shooting down one of those nests with a paintball.
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3 comments:
I not young but I am heading your way with my fully automatic 6392 hyper-vented paint ball express. Mark all wasp nests with surveyors’ paint please.
It seems you have avoided the barn for some time and depend on #1 for descriptions of the place. Hint-maybe the mice story was a ruse to keep the womenfolk out of the man cave?
Grayquill,
You are right. I HAVE been avoiding the BARn. That's before I even knew about waspapalooza and the 1000 mice munch. Mechanic H has taken up the bottom part with air compressors and saws and tooly things, and that's where he stashed his 'wild boars' before we found out they were a 13 year old girl's pot-bellied pigs.
The less time I spend in the BARn, the less likely anyone is going to think I am responsible for its upkeep. That's my theory, and I'm stickin' to it. It's HH's mancave.
I raised two boys and a girl, and I can sooooooooooo identify with the boys! Paintball was not an issue raising them...THANK GAWD~! But, they had their share of "hidden beer" (not so hidden)...Hadn't been at the mansion for a while, nice visit
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