The crime is in getting caught.
9:49 p.m.
There have been a number of rules in our house, many of which involve where food may and may not be consumed. As a matter of fact, it may only be eaten in the kitchen, unless we are using the dining room, and nowhere else, be it the living room, the reading room, the attic, the bedrooms. Oh wait, it can be eaten outside on the front porch or the back deck. It is not allowed in the basement, but somehow, probably because Hubby breaks this rule all the time, snacks and drinks are transported down there to be consumed while watching the big television. The thing is, and I learned this very early on in my own childhood and adolescence, if you�re going to break the rules, you better make darn sure you don�t get caught. I am forever finding crumbs and juice stains and other evidence of illegal trespass.
Yesterday when I was bringing laundry in from the line, I noticed sparkles in the sunshine on the deck and got down on my hands and knees to investigate, finding many tiny shards of broken glass. I asked Little Princess what had happened, and she said that her brother was responsible, but she wasn�t going to rat on him. Eventually though, she did, as I knew she would, and I got the whole story, which he confirmed when he came home.
While we were gone to the funeral on Saturday, Buddy Boy had had some classmates over to make a video for media class, a spoof on MTV�s top 20 hits. It�s pretty good, actually. He filmed his friends jumping around in different rooms of the house, pretending to play various musical instruments, and at one point he thought it would be great if someone were to smash a beer bottle with a baseball bat, which they did on the back deck. It was a Sleeman bottle, I could tell because the glass was clear and uncoloured.
Now, according to Buddy Boy, he cleaned it all up. If he did, why was I finding all this broken glass all over the place? I told him to get the vacuum cleaner and do it again. So he did. I�m still finding shards of glass, so I have told everyone not to go out there in bare feet until we can get rid of it.
This brings of the questions: What is wrong with guys? Why can they not see what they are supposed to be cleaning? Why do women always find traces of evidence? (I could have substituted �mothers� for �women�, but it�s the same diff.) I think if the police force hired moms to investigate crime scenes, they�d have convictions in no time.
Oh, the truly sad part of this story is that the boys never got to use the footage they filmed, as part of that scene got recorded over. Bummer.
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