It’s Friday night. There are four 14 year old girls giggling uncontrollably in the living room and I’m delegated to my bedroom to type this. Why can’t I go out there and take my seat back? Am I afraid of their laughing and somewhat distressing way of communication(quiet, loud, quiet…they’re like the Pixies.) I guess there’s no shame in admitting I don’t understand them. I’m just the guy that puts the frozen pizzas in the oven and appears when they’re done to clean up after them.
Such is life.
I’ve got some Sam Adams Cream Stout and some Olivia Tremor Control on the turntable. Well, it’s waiting for me to spin it anyways. They’re out there in my vinyl spinning area talking about “Steven Donley” and someone named “Sam”. It’s hard to here what they’re really talking about between the shrill cackling. There was also talk of Christian rap and, “Chase”? I don’t know.
Oh, it’s like The Pixies again. Quiet….quiet….quiet….quiet….LOUD!
I think I’ll get used to insignificance. Eventually. Oh s**t, they’re talking about boobs. Where the hell are my headphones. Kraftwerk, take me away! I don’t even think those German weirdos could drown out the talking and munching and teenage pomposity that’s going on out there right now….
You know, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Our oldest was supposed to go over to HER girlfriend’s house. The two youngest already had plans to ditch us. It was going to be a nice quiet evening with the wife and I. Some spirits, some grub, and some Roku entertainment. Well, that quickly backfired when my oldest asked my wife if she could have a couple friends over to OUR house, as the plans to go to her pal’s place fell through.
So much for a quiet evening.
They’re eating. The hullabaloo has quieted down for the mom….no wait. They can be loud eating, too.
I’ll send the dog to the kitchen for more beer since my son is gone. Come here, boy! Come here! Daddy needs another brew….