Update: Coworker Black Lab on Meth got this at a local fair. Here it is shown in my office about ready to take a crap on my desk. A few nuts, bolts, and washers per crapload, which no one is going to notice amongst all the nuts, bolts, and washers on my desk already.
Frankenboy as I may have mentioned before is a pretty high-end (functioning) autistic kid. He has his mannerisms, some of which drives one nuts, some which are kind of cute, and some that leave you scratching your head.
But in other ways, he’s Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes.
I had a less-than-zero sleep last night and by 7:45am I was hearing the sounds of Cruel Wife rushing to get out the door. I could hear her brushing hair, doing the makeup, and the pfffft of a quick shot of hair spray.
Still 3/4ths asleep I noted it and resolved to lay back down until when my alarms were set, at 7:59am and 8:03am (I have this thing about wanting prime numbers, no repeat numbers, and not liking increments of five in my alarm clock settings).
Some time later, I smelled hair spray – very strongly. I threw the covers over my head while thinking “Jeez that is ridiculous”. A minute later I threw the covers off my head to get some fresh air and gagged at the smell which was an order of magnitude worse. Covers went back over my head and I said to myself “Damn, CW, that’s over the top. Must be a bad hair day to rival Bill Clinton’s”.
A few minutes later I was looking for fresh air and it was just as bad – hair spray fumes were making stratified layers of haze across the room. I closed my eyes and ducked under the covers again, resolving to get some more shut-eye.
The alarm clock went off. I smacked it with my foot and it turned off the alarm. I closed my eyes again and almost immediately the thing went off again, this time to a radio station, which told me that it was the second alarm. I stomped on it with my foot and it, too, turned off.
At least the hair spray smell was abating a bit. I went back under the covers and resolved to get up in a few minutes.
Fast-forward 37 minutes – I looked at the clock and realized I was late. I leapt out of bed, got on my fuzzy robe, and realized that the sitter had already arrived and was on the couch reading her paper as I dashed to shower. Did all the appropriate get-ready-for-work things, picked up all my pocket stuff (change, keys, smartphone), and realized I had no hair spray. So I ran to the other bathroom where CW keeps hers and… she was out. The can was gone and there was only some kiwi-scented (flavored?) gel stuff, which I was not going to use.
On the way to work I called her and said “So, you ran out of hairspray this morning, huh?”
“No, I have been running low but I still had a decent amount.”
And it dawned on both of us at the same time that Frankenboy must have imitated Dear Old Mom and hosed himself with spray to the point of exhausting every last bit of propellant and toxic hair spray glue that was left in the can. Which means that everything in the house will be tacky for a while and that the cats may hork up next week’s hairballs tonight because of the aerosolized glue.
On the way out, Frankenboy said “I want to play on the Playstation.” I told him “No, I have taken it away for a week, remember?”
He ran over and beat up the couch. I told him that I understood that he was angry and that was ok, but he still doesn’t get the Playstation. He looked at me and then beat up the couch again. We repeated that once more and I told him to go to his room and be angry there.
He ignored me until I hit a count of “two” and then did it, and slammed his door. Then I heard another door slam. Then a third.
I thought “But their room only has two doors…?”
SLAM…. SLAM…. SLAM….
He was making his point to keep slamming the door until I fully understood That He Was Angry.
I went in and told him he was making the perfect case for losing the Playstation for another week or two. That resulted in a major pouting session but by then I really had to go to work.