It’s 11:30 on a Sunday night. I’m just catching up on a few blogs, and then I’m going to get ready for bed. My wife and daughter are in the living room veggin’ in front of the idiot box, the dog is laying in my spot on the bed all calm and peaceful for the first time in hours, and my son and his best friend are in the back yard in a tent. It’s summer time, so no school, I’m cool.
My wife sticks her head in the bedroom door and tells me there’s sunshine in the front yard behind the trashcan.
Why is this a problem, you ask? Well, two reasons. Most obviously, it’s 11:30 at night and there shouldn’t be any sunshine behind the trashcan in the front yard at 11:30 at night. Secondly, Sunshine is my son’s girlfriend, and there’s no damned way in hell she’s supposed to be behind the trashcan in the front yard at 11:30 at night.
I knew it would happen eventually, but geez. 11:30 at night? What the heck was she thinking wandering around alone that late at night? Oh, right. She’s a teenager, so of course she wasn’t thinking at all. Silly me.
Well, fortunately they were dumb enough to get caught and nobody was hurt.
My wife and I just delivered her back to her grandmother’s, where she’s spending the weekend. Conveniently, Grandma lives about a half mile from us, while Sunshine and her folks live on base, several miles away. At least she hadn’t walked all the way from there.
Parenting is such fun. Especially at 11:30 on a Sunday night. Needless to say the boys are in the house for the night, and there will be some serious safety discussions going on tomorrow.
If, of course, I can keep a straight face. Doofuses.
Goodnight, and grease for peace.
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