My Son Continues to Crack Me Up

“Where will we live?” my fifteen year old son asked me last night when I mentioned that somebody may want to buy our apartment.

“Somewhere nice,” I answered.  Honestly, I have no idea but I’m not going to worry him about it.  I am a real estate agent after all.  If anyone can find someplace to live I can.

“Maybe we should live in a hotel for a year,” he suggested.

“Great idea,” I agreed (not really).  “We can all share one room.”

“Maybe we should reconsider,” he countered.  I know what he was thinking:

Room service,

Pay t.v.,

His own hotel room with maid service every day (though I am the maid already, aren’t I?),

Unlimited porno.

“Also, what about Grandpa?” I asked.

“The Dachshund?” he asked.  He always called Grandpa “The Dachshund”.  He and I were not fans of the name Grandpa, but I let my daughter name him.  My son and I were voting for McLovin.  I still think McLovin would have been the perfect name for Grandpa.  He looks like a McLovin.

“Yes,” I replied.  “The Dachshund.”

“I guess we should reconsider that decision,” my son said again.

So smart to let them think they are making the tough choices, isn’t it?

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About mallorylayne

midlife mom seeking meaning for the rest of her life.
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