I think I have just received a little electric shock treatment from the bad-assed Gods of Karma. Was it not just the blog prior to this that I discussed The Teenage Morose One and the “Bubble of Silence” treatment he often needed to receive and how those days were now long gone??? Ha. Ha. Ha.
Today’s post was to be all about our mini vacay to Asheville NC, the sensual and sumptuous spa treatments at the Grove Park Inn, the amazing food, the peace, the bliss.
Not so fast there Sugar Britches, laughed those fickle Gods of Karma…we will gift you with an entirely different subject matter for your blog….
As soon as I stepped into the house with two wildly amped up 55 lb. puppies just sprung from five days in boarding prison, I smelled a rat that aroma you sniff when stepping into a bar the morning after, that reek of spilled beer drying on the wood floors, the faint whiff of cigarette smoke, and something reminiscent of a no-tell motel room. Eyes to the right, where I noticed long, trailing stains on the carpet leading to the master bedroom. Eyes left toward The Morose One, “How did that stain get on the carpet?”. “What stain?” “That one, the six-foot long one that trails from the living room all the way down the hallway and into our bedroom.” “I have absolutely no idea.” “What happened to my palm tree floor lamp?” Indicated lamp was listing like a drunken teenager, with the handpainted shade ripped and rippled in numerous places.
“I guess the cleaning ladies must have knocked it over.” These poor cleaning ladies arrive every second Friday, about twelve strong, and blow through our house like a welcome tropical breeze. In the two years they have been providing this delightful service, they have never once broken ANYTHING. These hapless ladies are blamed by The Morose One for any untoward thing that happens in this house for at least three days after they’ve been here. Leftovers aren’t in the fridge where you left them? “Those damn cleaning people again Mom.” The contents of a bar bottle looks like it might have been reduced by an inch or two? “Well Mom, its Friday. I guess the ladies are just starting their party a little early.”!!
In my newly relaxed, blissed out Asheville state of mind, I walked across the kitchen to give my 6’2” scrawny critter a big “I missed you so much” hug and noticed dried food crumbles all along the baseboards, then realized my shoes were sticking to the floor as I moved.MOM RADAR periscope fully engaged. “Did the cleaning ladies NOT show up?” Strange, because their check was not where I had left it. “I donno, maybe not, or maybe they just did a crappy job.”
Fiercely determined to keep a death grip on my bliss, I squinted my eyes slightly and decided I was imagining things and tootled off to watch Thursday night’s American Idol. Mere moments later I hear The Spousal Unit yelling for The Morose One to get his butt downstairs STAT! Oh Oh, this didn’t sound good at all. There stands The Unit holding a half full/empty (pessimist/optimist??) beer can of some unknown breed, certainly unlike any kept in our fridge. “Morose One, how did this get into the filing cabinet in our office and don’t even pretend you don’t know?”
“Oh God, I knew you would find out, and I thought I did such a great job cleaning up the place after they left.” “After WHO left?” We have a long-standing rule that no one other than Son himself can be in the house if a parent is not there. This is not a vague, or new, or translated from a foreign language rule. We are not wishy washy buddy-type parents who make endless exceptions to our own rules. That being said, The Unit and I were quite anxious to hear his response. Get ready, y’all are gonna love this!
“Well, it was really, really cold outside and three of my friends had no way to get warm, so I let them come in the garage to warm up a little.” The entire five days we were away, it was unusually mild, with sunny skies and temps in the mid to upper 50’s. “You know you are not allowed to have anyone here if we’re away; that includes the garage.” “I know, but when I tried to tell them they had to leave, they wouldn’t go, so I got pissed and went up to my room to play my guitar, and that’s when those 30 other people just showed up and threw a party. They just wouldn’t leave and they were calling everybody on their cell phones, saying “There’s a party at The Morose One’s crib”.
The karmic enormity of the extremely deep doo doo he is in begins to filter through the teen brain and he starts to pale, tears from the eyes, and snot from the nose, knees quivering. The lies just kept on coming and so did our discoveries throughout the evening. It kind of felt like an Easter egg hunt just for grown ups. An antique coin collection had been rifled, The Unit’s guns were rearranged, our closets had been investigated, wastebaskets had been thrown up in and left in the backyard. From the fridge in the garage, three bottles of Corona were missing and two bottles of champagne from our wedding. The cherry on the sundae was the discovery that, much like The Three Little Bears, our massive, welcoming, cloud nine bed had been slept, schtuped in violated. A Certified Domestic Goddess knows these things because stains produced by geriatric inhabitants look nothing like the bright pink cherry lip gloss that decorated the pillows, sheets, and duvet.
I am now in possession of the keys to his restored 1984 El Camino, his IPhone, and his computer. He is grounded except for school and pizza delivery (oops, there goes the job, right along with the vehicle!) until he leaves for college in August. Anyone out there been there, done that? This blogger is in desperate need of advice, solace, wisdom, or anything else that might help in my quest for IMMEDIATE BLISS RESTORATION. The only thing that’s truly needed to complete this picture of familial joy is the doorbell ringing in about six months, with a visibly pregnant 17-year-old girl standing there, suitcase in hand and calling me Mom.
Don’t worry Tori Nelson; I’m sure the Man Child will never do such a thing!!