Not Out Loud

Boys will be Boys

Two idiots in tow and cash to burn. That's about the worst combination you can have when you're about to be a broke college student. Oh well...

For once I was bored enough to initiate it. With a phone call no less, because hey, I'm a brave soul.

First it was, "pick me up."

Then it was, "turn around, meet us at King's Harbour."

I waste so much gas on those two idiots.

Whatever, they waste so much time on me that I suppose it's fair.

Into the parking garage, Stevie Wonder's "Superstition" blaring and American sunglasses on, you have to admit, I'm a character.

Park. Lock car. Twirl keys around my finger. Smile on.

And they are dragging a half drowned paddle boat out of the water.

A formerly red, spray-painted green, hole in the bottom, full of rain, found on the side of the road, paddle boat.

And one is concerned by the spider on the foot pedal while the other is capturing the sunset over the water with his phone.

Boys will be boys.

Out of the water, they have to drain half of the lake out of the boat. Then it's all, "put this rope around your waist and we'll haul it up to the car like a workout."

Meanwhile, I'll casually stroll back, side-stepping all the ant piles that had attacked me the last time I was involved in such shenanigans.

Alright now lift it onto the car, tie it down in such a way that you have to climb through the windows to get in, and let's bring her home.

Back to the parking garage, on to his place.

Now, for the real adventure.

I do not speed.

It's not my thing.

Ask my friends, I drive like a grandma.

But when I am feeling spontaneous enough to go buy a fish, of course I'll speed on the bridge. Everyone speeds on the bridge.

It wasn't about breaking the law anyways. It was about that windows-down, good music playing, wind in your face, good feeling. Spontaneity at it's finest.

And where else do you bring cash to burn, but to Target?

Now, let me explain. My parents are practical people. When it comes to spending money, they limit themselves to the strict definition of needs. And that's fine. Except, I want my dorm room to be a little bit fancy. Instagram-worthy kind of fancy. I guess I gave into the peer pressure of all these other girls I know posting pictures where there entire dorm coordinates and everything is cute and frilly. I am not cute or frilly, but I guilt-tripped myself into trying it out.

Just some command hooks, twine, clothes pins, and maybe some decorative lights or pillows. A simple photo collage on the wall ought to spruce things up, right?

But then you hand me a shopping cart, and he needs school supplies for senior year which starts tomorrow, and the other one wants to LARP in the damn store. Oh well, boys will be boys.

Twelve aisles, three hundred turn arounds, one small stupid football, three times asking for directions, and two things on chocolate milk later, and it's checkout time.

I hate self check-out. Mostly because it hates me. But it was the fastest line and those two idiots had already loaded my cart with random crap and then run away.

The whole you break it, you buy it rule? I didn't follow that. But what Target doesn't know won't hurt them.

Anyways, check-out. One decides he doesn't want chocolate milk anymore, the other doesn't have his wallet. It's fine.

Being called "Daddy" in front of the assistant lady also made my day.

I gotta love my boys.

So when I get spontaneous, and I initiate the adventure, we chase each other around with shopping carts, toss footballs across the store, and moan and call each other names.

But, boys will be boys.

And honestly those kind of adventures are why I'm going to miss them so much.

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Author's Note:

Sorry Target.

Thanks for staying open late.