Morning coffee and a BS session with the boys, Mr. Fixit and Uncle Gianni, turned Don into an absolute jackass the minute they left to run errands. They left me with a fight on my hands to keep Don off the gate and on the top floor. I’m talking, pushing and shoving me away as I try to guide him into his bedroom and away from the gate.
We took his TV downstairs for guests because theirs was knocked over and shattered. We fixed him a place on the loveseat in the living room with a brand new TV as a temporary alternative. Olympics and golf were both airing for entertainment. Not good enough for Don. Beautiful day outside where he could enjoy the weather and something to drink outdoors on the upper deck. Not good enough for Don. Then he aggressively truffled (my definition: combo of tromping and shuffling) through the kitchen. He knows the kitchen is off limits. He didn’t even attempt to soften the footsteps so that I might not hear him. He resembled a runaway train with faulty brakes. He demanded a piece of cake that I had just baked. With whip cream, thank you very much.
Kristy: OK, mister, I don’t know what’s going on with you today, but you better straighten up or I will have to make you sit in timeout in your bedroom with no TV until the guys get back with a Roku.
He glared at me with hatred in his heart. For one moment, I thought I was dealing with a 13-year-old female decked out in Goth gear. Bring it on, smartypants. I have trained for these moments of dirty looks for decades.
Note to Self: …. and he knows what he can do with that cake and whip cream.