Who's the Boss?

We had a thunderstorm here this morning, while I was in Save-A-
Lot. So what if the ground needs water...I got soaked carrying
out my groceries that I boxed myself. And it IS all about ME.
We have a part of the gravel road that does not deal well with
sudden heavy rain. Perhaps it has something to do with those evil
LandRapers who brought in a large semi flat-bed and another truck
with a trailer loaded with a Bobcat, and gouged all the big rocks
out of the land on the uphill side of the road. D'ya think? There
is nothing to slow the runoff, and all that mud and water washes
a trench across the road. The boys and I call it The Not-So-Grand
Canyon. Lucky for me I have the large SUV.

I saw a green-and-black striped snake in the middle of the blacktop
road in town. You know it's a hard rain when a snake has to crawl
into the middle of the road to keep from drowning. At least the cat
footprints were washed off the large SUV.

I am getting fed up with my houseguests. Oh. I forgot. They're
my family. I have been watching too much Big Brother. Nobody
wants to do anything except lie around and boss me. I don't take
too kindly to that. Here's an example. I went from the laudry room
(on my second load of their clothes) to the kitchen, and saw a
dark brown spot on the floor. There was a chunk of it over by
the wastebasket, too. I called into the living room, "What's with
this brown stuff all over the floor?" To which HH replied, after
a heavy sigh that could have been heard in town, "I guess I'LL
clean it up, even if it isn't mine." Oh, spare me. It was mud. He
knews he was the only one who'd been outside, wearing his waffle-
soled work boots, after rain showers off and on last night. I don't
exactly think we need CSI here. And since when do we only have
to clean up stuff that is ours? I'd like to see that on paper. Because
my work would be cut by 75%, thank you very much. (And no,
the mud wasn't mine. This all happened before I even went to
Save-A-Lot).

And another thing about HH. He knew we were going out to eat
last night. An hour before we were supposed to leave, he took
the boys outside, and sat on the steps of the 5th-wheel camper
parked in the front yard while they sweated themselves silly
whacking a baseball around. Then he said they were ready to
go. I told #2 to go wash his face. HH sneered, "I'LL do it," and
marched him off to the bathroom. I heard water running. "Hey,
what are you using to wash his face? I haven't put up the laundry,
and I know you don't have a washcloth." "I have a washcloth.
The one #1 used earlier this morning." EEEEWWWWW!!!!
Is it just me, or do any of you think it is kind of gross to
have someone else's clammy used washcloth scrubbed over
your face? I snatched #2 away, got him a clean washcloth, and
attended to his grooming needs myself. Which I am sure was
HH's plan all along--'If I do it wrong, she won't expect me to
do it again.'

After our meal of catfish, chicken, shrimp, slaw, hushpuppies,
baked beans, onions, pickles, fries, and sauces, we were not
too full for dessert. We drove through Wendy's for a Frosty,
#2 son's new favorite treat. HH had never had one. He claimed
that he didn't even know there was a Wendy's in the area. It
has been here at least 5 years. We told HH the Frosty comes with
a spoon, but is better through a straw, like a shake. Only thing
is, it takes about a half-hour to melt enough to drink it. Did HH
listen to us? You know the answer. He tried and tried to suck
that thick chocolatey goodness up a straw. He tried so hard,
he swerved the car across the center lane 15 or 20 times. Oh,
I forgot. He does that anyway. He collapsed the straw. He
almost sucked his brain down that straw, I think. Finally, he
said, "This might be good if I could get it out." Duh. All he had
to do was set it in the cupholder until we were almost home.
The rest of us did it. HH said he didn't want to use the spoon
because then he wouldn't be able to drive. Right.

Now I am exhausted from complaining about HH. It is totally
his fault, don't you think? He has not learned the lesson I have
been trying to teach him for the last...a lot of...years:

When there is Bossing to be done, I am the Bosser, and he is
the Bossee.