I pride myself on the fact that I can be in and out of the shower, scrupulously clean, hair dried and flat-ironed, and have my makeup applied in less than one hour. I am not one of those languorous, high-maintenance bitches that takes four hours to get ready in the morning, nor am I a fifteen-minute wet-headed gal (coarse, wavy hair).

However, I seem to have raised one vain-assed, slow-motion mofo.

We are lucky enough to have three bathrooms in the house. However, one of those is in the master bedroom with my stepdad and is the Bathroom In Which We Dare Not Tread, and one of those is my bathroom downstairs, which the highland-dwellers are too lazy to use. Therefore the J-Man and my mother share a bathroom in the morning.

The child won’t take a shower at night, preferring to be So Fresh and So Clean in the morning, so he and my mother fight furiously over the bathroom for a solid hour and a half.

Yes, folks, he spends a good hour and a half showering, applying my hair products, getting dressed (which is apparently a carefully thought-out and lengthy process even though he lays his clothes out the night before) and wolfing down his food in three minutes.

I have never seen someone move so slowly (except for the breakfasting) in my whole damned life.

If I had a girl I would expect such machinations. But a teenaged boy? Aren’t they supposed to be dirty and smelly and absolutely not care?

He drives me up the wall, and my mother is fit to be tied. But will either of them use the downstairs bathroom? No. Stubborn asses!

However, I am glad to report that this year has started off stunningly with absolutely no teasing or bullying and some A plus math papers which warmed the cockles of my hard little heart. For that, I can stand a little vanity.

In other news, my skinny little slip of a size four mother is gaining weight, and she is not happy.

I would like to say that I am not a bitch and that I am not looking upon this particular situation with a large amount of sick satisfaction, but… ahem.

I would also like to say that I’m not teasing her relentlessly, making up for all the fat comments that have been tossed my way over the years, but again… ahem.

A big person I am not, unless you count the size of my ass.

Anyway, she is completely freaked out, but it’s driven her to actually want to exercise, which is a Very Good Thing. So starting this evening, we’re going to a local park for an hour to walk. I could use the extra hour too, and so could the J-Man, so I think it’s an excellent thing for the whole family.

My mother’s burgeoning booty has turned out to be both a source of constant amusement and a blessing. Who knew?

“Hey Ma, you got fries to go with that shake?”

“Hey Ma, pants a little snug there?” (this, because I’ve heard it myself approximately four thousand times)

“Hey Ma, are you sure you’re not up the pole?”

“Hey Ma, do you really need that doughnut?”

I am having so much fucking fun.

I am also an evil, ungrateful little shit.

In still other news, the J-Man’s eighth grade trip has been suddenly sprung upon me. Apparently there was a meeting last year, a meeting which was NOT announced on the school’s website, which I check religiously, or the school’s newsletter, which I read religiously; and pamphlets were handed out, and scholarships were given.

Scholarships were given because the damned trip costs ELEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS.

They will be traveling to Washington DC, and to be fair, that fee covers every little thing: air fare, hotel room, accident insurance, chaperones, all admission fees to all attractions, and all meals. The only thing he’d need extra cash for would be souvenirs.

Still, it’s a lot of scratch.

I think it’d be a very enriching experience, though. They would be seeing pretty much everything there is to see in DC (sans crackheads), and I think it’s damned important for him to get the hell out of Indiana once in a while.

For that reason I’m taking the money out of savings, and also because (and probably only because) I’ve been promised child support this month by the Prosecutor’s Office, since they’ve put a lock on The Shit. Plus, my dad is going to help defray the cost, too.

It still pains me to pay this much, but I think the experience will be worth it.

Or maybe I’m just worried he’ll be stigmatized as being poor.

Or maybe a little of both.

Maybe I’m a little vain, too.

Happy Wednesday.

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