Weekend Frat Party

OK, it's not a true frat party. There are no kegs. There are no drunk young women taking half their clothes off. At least not the last time I checked. I haven't heard a single, "Dude, watch this!" There isn't any loud and raucous music, either. Which translates into no visits from the cops.

Maybe it really doesn't seem like a frat party at all...

In reality, it has been deemed "Work on your vehicle in our garage weekend." Three vehicles, so far.

And what I do have is a house full of young men. Really, there's only two extra, but around here, that's a houseful. And what is it about the word 'houseful' that looks wrong on so many levels?

Spelling lessons later, perhaps.

What it means is someone is always thirsty, always hungry, and always in the bathroom. It makes life interesting for someone like me who has to pee every 30 seconds or so. Who would rather not have to cook on the weekends. Who NEVER keeps anything but water, iced tea, and milk as available beverages. I do have kool-aid, but they have to mix it themselves, which is clearly too much like work. I also have a lot of wine, but they are all underage and better not touch my stash of vino! They're more of a beer bunch, anyway.

It also means that after a long day of grease, banged up knuckles, and foul language, the bodies tend to fall wherever they come to a stop. Including the extra dog who is clearly comfortable with his slobbery mouth on a couch pillow thrown to the floor.



Nearly every clean blanket is now contaminated with manchild dirt and cat hair. Including the large one that must be washed at the laundromat. There are shirts, sweatshirts, dirty socks, and footwear all over. And half-filled glasses of milk. I'm surprised the cats haven't found those yet. I'm also wondering, with extra beds in the house, why the living room remains the place to crash. And why are the curtains all askew?

Don't be fooled though. Despite my observations, I'm loving every minute of it. Even if I will have to cook up a hot breakfast.