Slacker

The Toad has made very little effort towards getting his poop in a group to go to school. I'm not surprised, really, but I am disappointed.

I knew we'd be jinxed if we told anyone.

He hasn't cleaned up his room, either. It smells in there--and is dark and clammy. He is, however, going to work, even if he is unbearably jerkish when he's here.

This is how bad his room is: My Sweetie took a bottle of Febreeze in there, and doused the entire room two nights ago. Almost used an entire bottle. The smell died back--for a while. It's creeping up the ol' Scent-o-Meter again. It's been less than 72 hours!

Geez.

He needs a haircut, and he smells. I spent yesterday telling him how much he smelled--every time I walked past him.

The good news is that his grandmother is finally on our side--not that she would actually admit it, though.

When he announced that he registered for these classes, she looked at me--tear in her eye and all--and said, "Oh, you just don't know what it's been like!"

I looked at her and said, "Oh, NO. YOU don't know what it's REALLY been like." And she totally missed the point. Of course it's all about how worried SHE's been, and how devastating his assholishness has been for HER. Never mind those of us who LIVE with him, and BREATHE the smell, and clean up after him. Oh, NO. There's no way WE could possibly KNOW.

One Toad for SALE! Cheap! (I'll throw in his grandmother for free!)