June 27, 2008

Personality Oddities

We have arrived at my folks’ domicile. We arrived just after lunch today, having broken it into two drives, stopping outside I-75 last night.

When I picked the boys up from camp, their clothes smelled so awful, I insisted on doing laundry before we left. No way in hell were their clothes going into my car. They aren’t exactly clothes horses, so they needed all their shorts for this trip.

There were some odd revelations while unpacking their footlockers.

Mr. T confessed to me on Tuesday night that he was officially going to quit eating as the bathrooms were so disgusting he refused to use them. In some ways, sending Mr. T to Boy Scout camp was the equivalent of sending a young ‘Monk’ (from the TV show, not a seminary). The disgust of the bathrooms was more than he could take, top it off with his being lactose intolerant and the Boy Scout cooks adding heaps of cheese to EVERY meal and he was… done.

So he refused to use the bathroom there, taking to peeing in bushes for that particular urge, and was going to go on a food strike so he could try to make it until the end of camp.

Nice.

Meanwhile, I looked at his older brother and whispered, ‘So, have you used the bathroom here?” he gave me that blank stare I have come to know, but not necessarily love, and said, “yeah, why?”

I replied in turn, “Umm… in every way, you’ve used that bathroom?”

Once again the blank stare, accompanied by a *blink* because one does not ask their teenagers if they’ve… well… you know… taken a crap. That’s essentially what I was asking, and yeah, I’m kind of moritified to even put that in print. Finally he gave me the shrug and said, “yeah… ?”

So. Evidently Ringo allowed his bodily needs not be be imposed upon by the filth of the bathrooms… filth not limited to just bodily excretions but also including assorted bugs, crawling and flying as these were pretty much bathroom stalls with no ceiling.

Does that make sense? Take the stalls from a bathroom and put them in the middle of campsite, no building, so all roaming animals have free range to walk under the stalls and all flying bugs can fly over the stalls.

Kind of reminds me of a preposition English lesson… the bug crawled under the stall, the bug flew over the stall, the bug flew around the stall, the bug flew in the toilet, the bug flew out of the toilet… you catch my drift.

Anyway, so Ringo was cool and Mr. T was not.

I was able to help Mr. T with his bathroom cleanliness issues by using some rational discourse accompanied with bribery and convinced him as well that hunger strikes were... out.

On Thursday afternoon, I went into their tents to help them gather their stuff. Sidenote… Ringo is a slob. I found a pair of his boxers and two pairs of socks on the floor. Ringo said, ‘Mom, its just these… I’ve been good about keeping my stuff together.”

I noticed that my neat son, Mr. T, other than having his rancid towel in the sweltering sauna canvas tent, along with his wet bathing suit, had nothing on the floor.

Flash forward to my emptying their footlockers into the washing machine at home. Just as he said, Ringo had put his dirty laundry in every bag. Each boy had clothes in a ziploc bag for each day. Sure enough, Ringo’s dirty Sunday clothes were back in the Sunday bag. His dirty Monday clothes were in the Monday bag and so on… with the exception truly being that one pair of boxers and those two pairs of socks.

I got to Mr. T’s footlocker, opened up Monday’s bag and… I said, “Dude, are these clothes… still clean?”

Mr. T: Yeah. I didn’t change that day…

Me, opening Tuesday’s bag: Dude, the shirt is missing, but are these shorts and underwear…and socks…. clean?

Mr. T: Yeah, I just changed my shirt.

And so it went… the kid only changed his shirt the entire week. He wore the same underwear, the same socks, and the same shorts for Sunday through Thursday.

I was aghast!

The kid who won’t use the bathroom, didn’t change his clothes.

The total slob who used the bathroom when nature called no matter what roaches, lizards, dragon flies and beetles roamed and no matter how dirty, changed his clothes and kept them together…

I’m a bit at a loss…

Anyway, we’re here. In Pensacola for the next week, where the bathrooms are clean and the food is terrific and there is air conditioning and comfortable beds... not to mention... grandparents. You can't beat that.

And I have to tell you, nothing quite beats watching my Mom sing Roxanne to Rockband while her grandsons play the guitar and drums. Holy crap. It’s classic…

Posted by Boudicca at June 27, 2008 09:13 PM | TrackBack
Comments

So did the bathrooms have any privacy? Or were they like ours, the old four-holers with no partitions where everybody, um, knew your business. Being a shy no. 2-er, I learned to go at odd hours, and speed dump (and wipe) before anyone else wandered in. Or if I could, I'd sneak into the administration building's restroom, where I could take care of business in relative cleanliness and privacy.

Okay, was that a little too much TMI for your blog?

Posted by: diamond dave at June 27, 2008 09:30 PM

I wish I were there. Have too much fun and many hugs all around.

Posted by: pfb at June 27, 2008 09:38 PM

Dave- No they have privacy... stall doors in between. I would suspect they do that now because of all the concerns with 'the bad people'. I took him with me to the women's room that first night, me peeping through to make sure nobody saw us! It was kind of funny...

PFB- We wish you were here too! Everyone doesn't start to arrive for awhile...

Posted by: Bou at June 27, 2008 09:59 PM

Welcome Home!

Posted by: P'cola Titan at June 27, 2008 10:13 PM

Very cool. Give your family hugs from me!

Posted by: vw bug at June 30, 2008 06:38 AM