A very funny Amazon review for multipacks of Kleenex is allegedly "A mother's struggle," describing the travails of living with three teenage boys who've discovered the miracle of self-pleasuring ("If I don't supply absorbent paper products, I'm going to find my dish towels hidden in the basement, stiff as aluminum. The other day, I almost cut my hand on a sock"). However, the "mother" who wrote the review is called "James Otis Thatch," so, possibly, too good to be true. But funny!
This is how it goes in this house. First the Kleenex disappears. Then the toilet paper. Then they go for fabrics. And you don't want it to get there, unless you're ready to invest in a five gallon drum of Fabreeze.
This used to be a good Christian home. But it's not about moral judgment anymore. I'm way beyond that. I'm in survival mode. If I don't supply absorbent paper products, I'm going to find my dish towels hidden in the basement, stiff as aluminum. The other day, I almost cut my hand on a sock. I am sorry to speak so frankly, but with three teenage boys, a woman has got to be practical.
The funny part is, they think they're being sneaky, with their 45 minute showers and sudden need for "privacy", as if I'm going to walk in on them journaling. They slink around the house like unfixed cats, while I try to announce my location at all times. No one needs to ask me to knock anymore. I knock on the walls. I practically wear a cow bell. I'm not looking to catch anyone by surprise, believe me. I'm just trying to get through this.
