Precocity

Last night was another setback for modernity at the Sodium Ranch. It required all four of us - my father, mother, nephew and me - to blow up my nephew's new exercise ball. Peabo kept staring at the plugged hole via which one blows up said ball. I showed him the pump and indicated that it was simply impossible to blow up the ball without removing the plug. He looked very suspicious so when he was not paying close attention, I pulled the plug. Oh wonder! The pump worked and the ball became, well, a ball.

On which my mother promptly pitched over backward.

Shortly thereafter, the EXTREME STRAIN of having TWO SPACE HEATERS on (our house is usually a cozy 29 degrees at best) blew the fuses in the entire upstairs. This was tremendously exciting for my nephew and me. We ran about doing important things like unplugging one heater and flipping the fuse.

Fuse repaired, Peabo irritated my nephew somehow and the latter screeched, "You take Viagra! VIAGRA TAKER! VIAGRA TAKER!"

Peabo: "You're f&(king sexually precocious!"

My nephew and I withdrew to bed. However, he then elected to draw me into a very serious conversation at 10 p.m. about the possibility that his mother was perceived as "white trash" and/or a "tramp." As this may have been the most delicately negotiated conversation of my legal career, I feel tempted to include it on my CV but am unsure how to go about this.

This morning, I woke to find Peabo wearing tiny undies and an Athenian football jersey. And plotting my political career.

There is an enormous (roughly four feet by four feet) package for Peabo here from Tennessee. He has just told me he is in a VERY BAD MOOD and it "might be best" if I avoided him. Hmm.