You would have to know my 14 year old son’s humor. Needless to say, he’s a little too cynical to be in advertising. What he thinks their tag line should be.
NOTE: This is a repost from several years back when I was single. I was reminded about this post by a friend (thanks Darcy) who said she loves it cause it proves that boys are gross. She told me I should repost it…so here it is.
(Sniff…sniff)…”Oh geez”, (sniff). “Oh man, this is not good. (Sniff) What on Earth is that smell?” I think as I start my 2 hour drive back home from spending Easter week end with my parents. My son and I, at times live in my truck or at least you’d swear by it if you saw it. For some unknown reason, my OCD cleaning habits does not extend beyond the front door of my apartment. Old mail, baseball gloves, bats, shoes, books, iPod Nano, pocket knives, loose change and of course the empty sacks of various fast food joints and soda bottles have found a home on the floorboard of my truck. That is until I have had enough and finally clean it. It stays clean for about a week or so starting when Grant is with his mom. When he is with me it only stays clean for the first three minutes after he’s entered the vehicle and for the following week, I don’t care because it’s “Da Boys” for a week, (insert manly grunt here). But this, this smell was all kinds of wrong.
“What is that smell?” I ask him. “I dunno” he replies flippantly; great, we’ve already reached the, “I dunno” stage of life. He doesn’t smell anything. Of course he doesn’t smell anything because it all smells normal to him. “This is getting really gross. I have to see what it is.” I say to Grant but he couldn’t care less. I find a gas station and pull in and immediately I hear, “Dad, can you get me a _______?” I have no idea what he asked for, I zoned out. I was focused on getting this smell out of my truck. I can’t have this smell in my truck.
I open the door and look around, nothing. I open the back door and look around; again I see nothing that looks like it would be the cause of the smell. I go around to the passenger side and open both doors and nothing. Grant is completely oblivious as he has his nose buried in a book. Not wanting to give up, I look again checking under the front seat then onto the other side then back again only this time to take a look from a different angle. I really, really did not want to unload everything or even move it around. I am anal when it comes to packing for a trip, even a small one…and here’s where I will admit something.
It’s true; men can’t find what they are looking for when they are looking for that something. That something can be anything really, shoes, a pen, the last can of soda in the fridge, the remote. It doesn’t matter what that something is because men won’t move anything when looking for that something. Its part of the male genetic make-up, even little boys do this and here’s why. The object of the game is to find whatever it is we are looking for with as little effort as possible and if we have to move something when looking for the other something, well, the first something we moved won the game. And we all know men don’t like losing to anything, especially a something when looking for anything! Had you been at that gas station, you would have witnessed this in action. The game clock runs out and no tic-mark will be placed in the “W” column today, I lost. I pull everything out.
I commence my search. Looking, looking…looking some more. I move the seats up all the way, nothing; I move the seats back all the way, again nothing. Hmmmf. I go to the back seat, pull the lever with one hand and raise the seat bottom with the other and time stopped.
You know what tunnel vision is? Where the only thing you can see is what’s right in front of you and you cannot see anything else? It’s literally like looking through a tunnel. BINGO! My vision actually narrowed when I saw it.
I don’t know what it was or where it came from but what I do know is that it was in my truck for at least two sunny, steamy hot 90° plus days with the windows rolled up. Who knows how long it actually had been there.
It was green, I mean really green. It was red and a purple-ish blue color too. There was a lot of it. “Oh hey you found it!” I hear from the front seat. Look who decides to show interest. “I found what son?” not really sure if I wanted to hear an answer. “A science experiment I was working on.” He said gleefully.
You know those moments in life where you just don’t have any words to say? I mean absolutely nothing comes to mind? This was one of them and for those that know me, that’s quite the accomplishment. Visions of Sigourney Weaver in Alien come to mind as I stand there looking at this thing. I half expect it to jump up at me and try to implant some alien egg in me.
I swear I saw it breathe. I reach down and poke it with my pen; it’s a gooey, gelatinous, gooey, sticky goo type…goo stuff.
I ask Grant if he knows exactly what it is. “No. but my teacher said I should keep it in the fridge.”
“Really?” Of course this wasn’t really a question I was asking.
So I take a deep breath and go in for the removal sans the flame thrower. Paper towels in hand and oh so desperately wanting my Clorox wipes (note to self: carry some in my truck from now on). I start to pick and prod at it. A little bit here and there I work at getting it out. After 15 minutes of pulling and rubbing and pushing it here and there, I finally see an end, sort of. The smell has subsided some but not all; I fear that it is in the carpet for good. My nose just inches away, (sniff…GAG-COUGH-KAK…Cough). The hair in my nostrils begins to fall out my vision wanes and my limbs go numb as my fear is realized. I am horrified. I will not be getting this smell out tonight.
It was a long, long, long two hours home.
Such are the joys of being a parent.