I have reached my level of testosterone poisoning for the weekend.
My father-in-law has been visiting for the last few days. He lives in St. Louis, MO, and visits once a year for the guys’ birthdays. (OnlySon and xxxxxx b-days are 4 days apart) He was a real hellion in his younger days, so xxxxx, has been acting like some kind of he-man-thinking Neanderthal for the last couple of days, trying to “one-up” his dad.
OnlySon had his best friend stay the night last night for his birthday. This little boy (godlovehim), is very high maintenance and has proceeded to scatter french fries and “boy-funk” from one end of the house to the other.
My girls have abandoned me, due to the moat of guy-crap that currently encircles my house.
And I have been the one working on prepping the house to get the floors redone. By myself. Until today.
Today, I finally got fed up, tossed my tools to the floor, and said “Someone ELSE can finish this. I’m going to the basement.”
So, here I sit, feeling guilty. My father-in-law is on his way to the airport with xxxxxx, and I was a shrewish hostess for the last few minutes of his visit. My girls are upstairs, trying, by themselves, to pull baseboards from the walls. And the boy? Well, he’s in his boy-funk room with the best friend, and they know nothing of what’s been transpiring in the rest of the house.
Xxxxxx is already talking about re-doing the kitchen floor (a floor which I personally stripped clean and tiled BY MYSELF just a few years ago, the ungrateful wretch).
And me? I’m contemplating fleeing the scene, at least till the last vestiges of this year’s testosteroneolympics has been swept away.