I often wonder if the liberal testosterone running through their veins aides in the shut-down of the brain.
They are such violent creatures at times and often their hands are in permanent fists. Even Sneezy has perfected the fist with his tiny, little baby hand.
I would swear they try to think up ways to perfect their masculinity, but often they end up with escapades that border on the moronic.
I have said to myself more often than not that I am surrounded by morons.
Case in point.
Due to the extreme critter conditions we find ourselves here in southern Colorado, we have the ever-present bug spray in the garage.
This is not the kind you find in a dinky, little can. It's the kind that you carry and has a hose attached to a spray nozzle.
Heavy-duty stuff here.
After all, we want to KILL the spiders, not numb them.
We keep it high up off the floor because after all we do try to be responsible adults and keep poison out of reach of children.
It even has it in big, bold letters on the product itself: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.
So, we thought it would be safe on top of the fridge in the garage totally not realizing that our children may be getting taller, but they still require parental supervision.
One day, 7 year old Sleepy comes to tell me his daily observations of life in general when I noticed he had a peculiar rash on his face.
My forehead scrunched in confusion and with great exasperation yelled, "What happened to your face?!"
He calmly replied that Grumpy sprayed him with bug spray. He went on to show me the various body parts that had gotten in the way as well when I pulled up his shirt to check.
"Grumpy?! Grumpy did this?"
You may well wonder why I ask this question, but I always thought Grumpy was more intelligent than this.
Thus, I wonder at this point if maybe the testosterone got in the way of his brain.
After Grumpy was found, he was brought to the firing squad.
He looked quite disconcerted to find his mother just staring at him with her mouth open and fire in her eyes for a good minute before she started into lecturing.
When his mother gets going, it could be a good ten minutes before she starts winding down. After all, this is poison we're talking about. It needs a good ten-minute lecture if not more.
All the while my mouth is streaming forth with all sorts of outraged motherly noises, I'm thinking, "Dumb. Just dumb. I'm surrounded by morons."
The I wonder about the things I don't know about.
It's enough to make me shudder.
They are such violent creatures at times and often their hands are in permanent fists. Even Sneezy has perfected the fist with his tiny, little baby hand.
I would swear they try to think up ways to perfect their masculinity, but often they end up with escapades that border on the moronic.
I have said to myself more often than not that I am surrounded by morons.
Case in point.
Due to the extreme critter conditions we find ourselves here in southern Colorado, we have the ever-present bug spray in the garage.
This is not the kind you find in a dinky, little can. It's the kind that you carry and has a hose attached to a spray nozzle.
Heavy-duty stuff here.
After all, we want to KILL the spiders, not numb them.
We keep it high up off the floor because after all we do try to be responsible adults and keep poison out of reach of children.
It even has it in big, bold letters on the product itself: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.
So, we thought it would be safe on top of the fridge in the garage totally not realizing that our children may be getting taller, but they still require parental supervision.
One day, 7 year old Sleepy comes to tell me his daily observations of life in general when I noticed he had a peculiar rash on his face.
My forehead scrunched in confusion and with great exasperation yelled, "What happened to your face?!"
He calmly replied that Grumpy sprayed him with bug spray. He went on to show me the various body parts that had gotten in the way as well when I pulled up his shirt to check.
"Grumpy?! Grumpy did this?"
You may well wonder why I ask this question, but I always thought Grumpy was more intelligent than this.
Thus, I wonder at this point if maybe the testosterone got in the way of his brain.
After Grumpy was found, he was brought to the firing squad.
He looked quite disconcerted to find his mother just staring at him with her mouth open and fire in her eyes for a good minute before she started into lecturing.
When his mother gets going, it could be a good ten minutes before she starts winding down. After all, this is poison we're talking about. It needs a good ten-minute lecture if not more.
All the while my mouth is streaming forth with all sorts of outraged motherly noises, I'm thinking, "Dumb. Just dumb. I'm surrounded by morons."
The I wonder about the things I don't know about.
It's enough to make me shudder.
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