Being a boy brings so-very-many enchanting moments of wonderment. Today was a day chock-a-block with fleeting flashes of �hrm?��for DaSauce.On waking (after the appropriate quart of caffeinated black-goodness) a strange-yet-thrilling nesting-urge ensued. Yay! and um, verily the house got cleaned. [Clean is a matter of close-enough in your diarist�s y-riddled DNA. I think for the record, it should be noted that Boy-Clean� is the cogent terminology�as it is certain that any female with phreaking-phasitidiousness would decide that the laundry got done, but the folding was iffy. They would complain that the kitchen was clean-as-a-fat-babies�-just-bathed-arse, but that the living room had Male-Stacking� along the sides and edges. Said X-carrier would note that the bathrooms were sparkling, but that the orifice where DaSauce-like-creature/cretin houses his electronic abaci was only de-dished and -cupped. The list continues but you get the gist.]
Upon lunching-the-lad, we played in the backyard and then together did kneel at the feet of She Who Gives Great Nap. On rising we read books, and dinner ensued, bath-followed, songs were sung�and DaBoy got tucked.
So. Back to wondering. An animal such as meself bathes (at minimum daily�and more often twice,) brushes his canines (twice/sometimes/thrice) shaves (on the order of three to four times weekly) and on� His clothes are clean but never-ever/not-once going to accessorize (the as yet conjectured) next female in DaLife. And here comes the rub (don�t be silly�this isn�t about DatSaucyGuy offering hisself or yerself a hand�so please keep-a-hand-hold in the Northern Climbs�grinning here)�the most that ever happens is a slight �hrm?� when this boy notes that others of his ilk are frantic/frenetic about their appearance and that of the lay-of-the-land-they-live-upon.
And yet I note that my-across-the-street neighbors all have the same initials in their names, keep their oh-so-precious automotive-attract-modes at a high flash level, are on the GO/GO/GO and must be entertained constantly by piles O� pals. Humans such as they would be completely adrift in my world.
What makes one human not-really-give-a-lightly-rewarmed-turdlette if they have extra pholks in their day or are running the gauntlet of a-deeply-active-lifestyle? Hrm?
How does alone-with-an-oh-so-loved son (who is �five point five, dad�) not cause flashes of loneliness, but rather come closer to contentedness for one member of our daffy-two-footed-race and for-another cause complete craziness and chaos? Hrm?
We never really left the abode today (unless you count the big-for-SoVerySoCal fenced in back yard.) Others would be batshit about that and NEED to run screaming to a mall, a pal�s house, and the coastline, anything-but just being home. That caused wonderment (in a passing moment) for the guy who is trying to have textual-intercourse with you, DaReader.
�Splain?
More, explain why upon writing this down�I no longer give a shit about the answer? T�was enough to just note it? Odd, that.
--SortaSlightlySeriousButItHasPassedSauce
PS. DaBoy asked what �galore means� this evening. It was all I had not to launch into Bond-Related-Female-Characters. [Still A Dolt.]
Pssst? Yesterday�s poor-attempt-at-a-single-line-O-silly? That was due to deep slowwwwwnessss on this site, and cause I was lamed-out-tired from sick-boy�s busy-but-bettering night.