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?


About mallorylayne

midlife mom seeking meaning for the rest of her life.
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