Macho Man

I have my computer back. I didn't have enough energy to wrestle our one family computer that Hubby bought for me but that was unfortunately placed in my son's room. Since then, he has claimed ownership, and I don't have the time to continuously plead with him for computer time.

But now? He's ousted from school, and decided to spend the year working as a waiter in a wedding hall so he can save money for driving lessons and a car. Weddings are thankfully held at night, which means the computer is free when I get home from work.

My young adult son loves to look at himself in the mirror and flex his muscles. "Look at my muscles" he'll tell me, while putting his biceps in my face. Nearly every day. He's so annoying. He does pushups in the living room while we're watching TV and lifts weights.

My daughters and I once gave him a lift to the local falafel shop (sort of like the local British fish 'n chip shop) and we laughed at him while he swaggered down the street - his arms arched by his sides.

"He looks like a gorilla" said my daughter.

"Why does he walk like that?" asked the other.

I have no words.

Then on Friday night, one of my daughters shrieked - "look at his feet!!!" We all looked and, yeah, he was wearing my daughter's blingy faux diamond studded, shiny, flip flops. All of us laughed until it hurt. Even macho man himself.