I have a teenage boy. He’s gross. I think all teenage boys are gross. His bedroom smells like something died in it. Until tonight I associated the rancid odor with his pet, Gary the Gecko. Over dinner this evening he took his grossness to a new level.
Because our family meals are very formal and mature Taryn, John, and I were discussing sneeze/farting at the table. Taryn thought that this was just a baby activity, I informed her that everyone does it. She was appalled in the typical teenage-girl fashion. To this I said, “really, you’ve never sneezed and farted at the same time?”
John: “I kind of did it once, only I puked and crapped at the same time.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to do it, it just happened.”
“Were you on the toilet at least?”
“No, I was puking in it.”
“Well, I had my pants on.”
I know, that’s disgusting. It gets worse.
Me: “John, what did you do with your pants?”
“I put them in the laundry basket.”
“Ummm, really? Did you rinse them out?”
“No, Mom that’s gross. I just wrapped them up in a towel and put them in the hamper.”
“John, you have to rinse them out first!”
“Mom, whatever the washer does, it does.”
His room smells like s#*%.
Also, this morning Reese ate a bite of a Pop Tart he found in the Target parking lot.
I can’t believe this is my life.