What Boys Do

The boys left the house by seven o’clock. I could only trust that Puck had dressed himself in his one remaining pair of hole-less stain-less church pants, collared shirt, and brown sweater.

“See ya in a bit!” Oxbear tried to say to me as quietly as possible as the front door slammed shut behind them.

Sunday morning boys’ breakfast. Bacon, eggs. A new thing for me – quiet on a Sunday morning.

Before 8:30 they returned, Puck swinging a sack of chocolate long john for me, which they had stopped for on the way back. Sweet things.

At the Big House, I immediately saw the handwritten paper sign sitting on the bathroom sink. Something to the effect of:

“There is a spider in this drawer. Do not open. (Not a brown rec.).”

It scared Puck off nicely. He didn’t use the hallway facility once the entire day.

During lunch, Francis was roundly admonished by everyone present (except maybe Oxbear, who just laughed at him) for being too much like Dad in high school.

“That was trespassing, Francis.”

“It was. You were trespassing.”

“You were, Francis.”

“Did you know that’s a felony?”

Finally, Carrie pressed two hands together in slightly maniacal mischief. “So, Dad. How is he going to be … punished?”

But Dad has too much of a soft spot for Francis’ shenanigans, so he was let off with a warning.

Meanwhile, there was another game going down in Cincinnati. About time for the boys to start heading home. But not before a lengthy 11-inning duke-it-out, which we took in from fuzzy laptop screens in the living room into the four o’clock hour.

We stopped for a few groceries on the way home. Puck danced the aisles, goofing around with Oxbear as much as possible. I just made sure the cart never went crashing into any refrigerated glass cases or pedestrians.

Cardinals: W 3 – 2; (@ Reds) -0.5