Thursday, July 26, 2007

The Meathead And The Bee

I'm sitting in my hotel room last night after a nice meal at a restaurant I like when I'm in town. The hotel itself is a pit, the carpet and furniture covered with unidentifiable stains, in-room air conditioners that howl like banshees, and rooms overlooking a particularly ugly parking lot.

Topping things off, the internet connection wasn't working. That meant I either had to read or watch TV. Reading gives me a thinkache and all I could find on television were reality shows and advertisements for Bowflex fitness systems. I hate reality and I hate exercise. I decided to to call home instead.

My oldest answers with a grunt. "What do you want?" Caller ID has its drawbacks.

"Just wanted to see what's going on at home," I reply.

"Nothing. I made dinner. It was good. There's not going to be any left for you."

Love you too son, I think, but keep it to myself for fear he'll hang up.

"Anything else new?" I ask.

"I already told you. No."

"Alright," I say. "Can I talk to your brother?"

"Which one?" he asks. "The big moron or the little moron?"

"Either one," I reply.

"The big one's not here. You'll have to talk to the little one."

"That's fine," I answer and he screams for his brother. My youngest gets on the phone.

"What's up, bud?" I ask.

"We had a spelling bee today," he says.

"Who's 'we'?" I ask, perking up at the idea they're spending at least part of the summer in pursuits more intellectually challenging than Xbox and fighting with each other.

"Me and Katie," he says.

I say reflexively, "Katie and I." Then it strikes me he's talking about our black lab. "You were having a spelling contest with a dog?"

"Yeah," he says proudly.

"You won, right?" I ask. Sadly, this isn't a foregone conclusion.

"We both did. We tied."

"You mean you're not better than our dog at spelling?"

"She's a smart dog." Not really, but that's beside the point.

"How come you can't beat a dog in a spelling contest?" I repeat.

"My brothers were the judges," he says.

That explains a lot. "Do I even want to know what words you were spelling?" I ask.

Pause. "Probably not," he says.

"Is your mother there?" I ask.

"Nope," he answers. "She's gone."

I don't blame her. I just hope she's back by the time I get home.


Adorable Girlfriend said...

I do hope your bride comes back. That would suck if she didn't. More importantly, why did you middle child ask which brother you wanted given that one wasn't there?

Anonymous said...

It's one of those days, those weeks, where I understand how someone can just get in a car and drive... for a long, long time.

I'm guessing the bride was out for an errand or some such thing. If I ran an errand today, it would take at least a month.

Snag said...

More importantly, why did you middle child ask which brother you wanted given that one wasn't there?

Excellent question. Probably to mess with me.

zombie rotten mcdonald said...

As Jennifer said, perhaps Bride went for a long, long drive.

Righteous Bubba said...

I hate reality and I hate exercise.

Me too. Let's pretend we're asleep.