A Parent's Revenge

Being a parent of five children has never been easy. Being a parent, period, is not easy. You start out your pregnancy thinking about what a happy, healthy family you will be. All of your children will shit sunshine, flowers and rainbows every day. They will love each other unconditionally and treat each other with kindness. Like an episode of the Brady Bunch, when someone breaks a lamp by violating the "no basketball in the house" rule, you will know they did it, but you will wait for them to come to you in guilt and admit their wrongdoing. Then, of course, THEY will decide that after their terrible behavior, it simply wouldn't be appropriate to go on that camping trip they've been looking forward to all month. Then everyone will hug.

Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hahahahahaha! Yeah, right! You soon find out that there's a reason that the Brady's were so happy. They weren't real!!

With Brent already living on his own, and Bri heading out into the big world, it amazes me that in just three short years, my kids will all be heading off to start their own lives-- hopefully in their own houses :-) Mine and Joe's lives will once again be peaceful and quiet.

But it's got me thinking about all the things they have done over the years and I just don't feel as though they should be allowed to go on their merry little ways without paying the piper for all their little shenanigans over the years. Oh, no. That would be too easy.

So, just in case they never have children of their own, this is how I plan to exact my revenge on them:

1. When they introduce me to their friends, I will assume the body posture of a velociraptor. I will hunch down, bend my arms and extend my claws. I'll curl my lips up while I begin to dart about the room, shrieking. Everyone will be mighty impressed with my stellar performance.

2. Each time I visit their house, the last thing I will do before leaving will be to flush some sort of foreign object down the toilet. Match-box car or a rubber ball just small enough to fit through the opening, but big enough to completely clog the entire sewage system. Whichever.

3. When they kindly invite us over for dinner, I will stare at their culinary efforts, their labor of love meant to nourish our bodies and souls, and I will loudly exclaim, "Yuck! Carrots are gross!" I'll then pick at my food, with unsightly facial grimaces and ask if I actually have to eat it.

4. On mother's day, when they take me to a beautiful restaurant, I will belch loudly and Joe and I will explode in a fit of giggles. If someone has the misfortune to scrape their chair on the floor while sitting, I'll point to them and yell gleefully, "They farted!" thereby reducing Joe and I to yet another episode of laughter.

5. If their phone should ring while they are using the restroom facilities, I will answer it and inform the caller that they can't come to the phone as they are "on the toilet." If said caller should be their minister or boss, I'll upgrade their status to "pooping."

6. When shopping, should a lady with an extremely large derriere happens to walk by us, we will point, snort, and say, "Man, and we thought your butt was big!" We won't notice their red faces or angry glares. We'll simply high-five each other for our cleverness and quick wit.

7. I will wait until their night off, when they're well on their way to inebriation, and then announce that the paperwork I need to complete for my life-insurance policy that is due tomorrow (the one I claimed was finished one month ago) is indeed NOT completed, and I need their help to finish up the final sixteen pages. This will require them to drag out their most recent tax returns and financial statements, and will take at least five hours of work.

8. I will crash my car and, being without transportation, I will beg, cajole and whine until they agree to drive me to my best friend's house-- three counties over. One hour after they return back home, I will call them and explain that my friend never actually got permission from her parents for my visit, and they must now come pick me back up again.

9. When they return home from buying the final Easter supplies and groceries at midnight (the night before Easter), there will be a strange, sticky substance covering every hardwood floor, the staircase, banister and every doorknob. When they ask what happened, Joe and I will look at each other and shrug; the absolute picture of innocent.

10. When visiting, I will ask permission to use their phone. I will then call random numbers, without bothering to block their caller-ID and inform whomever answers that they've just won $500 in the "Butter on a Bald Monkey" contest. I'll hang up and run.

These are but a few of our plans. Four years is after all a long time. I'm quite certain this list will continue to grow.

Gotta go, my son just walked in with purple hair and his tongue pierced. I'm not so sure I want to add that one to my list...

Boobs: Women have them; men just act like them

It's long been thought that women are the weaker sex. We just can't get along without a big strong man to protect us and support us. While this may have bloated the heads of centuries' worth of men, women have long since known that we have the ultimate power and the most effective weapon.

It's stronger than any nuclear weapon and can reduce even the mightiest man to infantile behavior by the mere mention, sight or even thought. They're right under our noses, quite literally and they're called boobs.

Boobs are basically God's way of apologising for the creation of men. Kind of an, "oops, sorry for that-- but here's a little something you can use to keep him under control..."

I'm not quite sure why this weapon is as powerful as it is. I mean, think about it; all women have them so it's not as though they're a rare commodity! And not just one, but each woman has TWO of them puppies! Surely if men were rational they'd realize that such an abundance should decrease their value, but, alas, it only seems to further confuse them. So many boobs, so little time... I truly believe that man's quest to lengthen his lifespan is spurred on by the desire to have more time in which to ogle more boobs.

It seems to effect their every waking behavior, and all their senses. Take their sense of hearing. A typical conversation between a man and a woman may go like this:

Mr. Mechanic: What seems to be the problem, ma'am?

Unsuspecting female: It sounds like there's something loose in my engine.

Mr. Mechanic: A rattle, or more of a knocking?

Unsuspecting female: Well, maybe more of a knocking sound.

Mr. Mechanic: I'll take a look under the hood.

This is the conversation as heard by the woman. The man interprets it more like this:

Macho man: Wow, those are some bodacious ta-ta's you have there. How may I get you to show them to me?

Boob owner: I'm very loose.

Macho man: Can I rattle your knockers?

Boob owner: Why, yes, my knockers are your knockers.

Macho Man: I'll gladly look under your blouse.

I understand how frustrating this is for women. But let's think outside the box for a second. We spend hundreds of dollars on our hair and makeup. We have our body waxed, and shave delicate parts in order to be more appealing to men. We obsess over our muffin-tops and wayward eyebrows. But why? Men would probably fail to notice facial hair on the bearded lady as long as she were topless. It's kind of freeing when you think of it in those terms. We no longer have to ask, "honey, does my butt look big?" Instead, just say, "Honey, do I still have breasts?" They'd find that question much easier to answer anyway.

I'm fairly certain, if you were to genetically map out a man's brain, somewhere in there is a huge lobe devoted entirely to breasts. It's probably the same lobe that, in women, is responsible for our shoe fetish and the inability to pass up a shiny bauble of any sort.

I say we stop seeing this niggling behaviour as just an annoyance and instead use them for the greater good of all humanity. Just think of the noble causes that could be served by boobs. Send women into battle instead of men. We could get enemy troops to surrender if we just showed up in wet t-shirts, bra-less. In fact, I'm fairly certain that we could pull off total nuclear disarmament in 30 days or less by simply offering to show one breast in exchange for each bomb. All this talk about smart-bombs! We have the original smart bombs permanently attached to our bodies!

So, wear them proud! Maybe even take a moment of appreciation for all they do for you. It doesn't matter what shape or size. Whether yours resemble a couple of fried eggs or ripe melons there's an entire battalion of men who see them as your own personal coupons toward whatever your heart desires.

Rock on, my fine ladies-- world domination will soon be ours if we just harness the power of the boob!