Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Good 'Ol Teenage Days

So…about a week or two ago my brother-in-law moved in with us (quick note: I have, like, one of the worst memory’s EVER, so when I estimate, it’s because I truly have no clue when in the world he moved in. I only know it was recently. I know, I know. I really need to work on this.)

ANYWAY. I digress.

So my brother-in-law has moved in for a temporary time.

And…something to know about my husband’s family is that although he is my age (25 going on 26), he has much younger siblings. Like MUCH younger.

Like, a 19 year old brother, a 13 year old sister, and another 12 year old brother. (yes, he is more than twice his youngest brother’s age).

So why, one might wonder, would I voluntarily allow a teenager to move into my home?

Our conversations thus far have revolved around two subjects: what ‘cuties’ we could pick up, and the random ways in which we can make fun of other people.

Was I ever this shallow?

Those who know me, don’t answer that question.

Clearly I was much more mature than that as a teenager, I am sure.

So again I ask myself, why did I agree to have a teenager move in?

That is a darn good question.

Maybe I need therapy.

Of the intense type. Like Freudian style where I lay on a couch and talk about my subconscious thoughts during free associations.

When I was younger, my mom and I went to therapy. The experience was NOT a good one (read: I screamed at the therapist and my mom.) Quality times, man, quality times.

But of course at that time, I did not think I could ever need therapy. I thought therapy was for crazy people. And CLEARLY I am not crazy. At least I didn’t think so.

I have since begun to re-evaluate that thought.

Brandon pointed my possibly-crazy behavior earlier this evening.

So, we were on the way to the mall with the aforementioned brother-in-law (all the way talking about cuties and making fun of people, of course).

I decide it is time for dinner. So, instead of driving ALL the way back to the house, I suggest that we should buy a pizza.

However, will I pay full price for the pizza? Heck the freak no! Are you kidding me? Not only did I choose one of the cheapest pizza places in town, BUT I also found the best coupon ever and got a free pizza.

Yes, you can applaud me now.

But, then I got outrageously angry when we realized we needed drinks and had to spend $1.49 on each drink. WHAT? I quietly (or not so quietly) mentioned while we were still at the drive-thru that this was SUCH a rip off.

Brandon was getting embarrassed of his squacking-like-a-bird crazy wife who would not stop talking LOUDLY about how much of a rip off this deal was.

Who can agree with me that I am clearly just a conservative woman who is concerned with saving money?! I mean, come on, getting good deals is crucial to my survival!

I knew you would see things my way.

About 10 minutes later, we passed The Melting Pot. I casually (or maybe got a bit excited [like flap my arms and get all googly with my eyes] mention that I LOVE The Melting Pot and it is my FAVORITE restaurant ever.

And what does Brandon do? Reminds me that the last time we went there? When there were only two of us? We spent $130.

He then points out that I am completely irrational and that I freak out about the fact that my drinks cost $1.49, but am totally OK with dropping $130 on a Melting Pot meal.

Whatever, Brandon. I am totally normal and rational. ALWAYS.

Orrrrr…maybe I do need therapy. Of the extreme and intense type.

And, not just because I have a teenager living in my household.

I might just be partially crazy.


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