Slow Adventures in Slothville

July 22, 2005

Sloth in Enemy Territory

Filed under: Boys, Family, Slothyness — shhville @ 12:56 pm

This weekend is the Sloth/New Guy parental swap weekend. I’m meeting his and he’s meeting mine. As mentioned very recently, my parents are ex-hippies and ultra liberals. I know, you’re shocked! I told Mama Sloth (who put me on the birth control pill when I was fifteen and made my fifteen-yr-old uber-Catholic boyfriend come with us to Planned Parenthood after that night I came home with smeared makeup and a rat’s nest in my hair) that New Guy’s parents will make us sleep in separate rooms at their house and she collapsed in convulsive laughter.

Old fashioned people are funny.

And New Guy (can we come up with a proper nickname soon, please?) is really close with his mom so I’m going to be very well-behaved (leaving the crack pipe and anal beads at home) but anyone who makes their 34-yr-old son sleep in a separate bedroom from his girlfriend as though that is going to restore our virginity is suspect until further notice. Oh, also, her husband (New Guy’s stepdad) is a Conservative Republican with a capital C and a capital R which spells capital OH CRAP, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DUCT TAPE MY MOUTH SHUT.

On top of that, this big house we are going to in Boothbay has one bathroom with a tub and a hot water heater the size of a paperclip. So there are pooping AND bathing issues to be dealt with. Sloths only poop once a week, but what if tomorrow is the pooping day??? I sense imminent peristalsis-related humiliation.

On top of THAT, there are two small children staying in the house at the same time as us. New Guy’s nieces, age 4 and 5 or 6 or something. I don’t know – they’re all the same around that age, right? When he told me that he’s going to send them up to wake me up tomorrow morning I tried to gently discourage him, reminding him that sloths are not morning creatures and that we sometimes accidentally kill people who bother us when we are not all the way awake yet. He insisted they would get a kick out of it and it would be cute and funny. I said, well, I’m not sure what is cute and funny about dead children and trying to wash blood out of my fur when there is only one bathroom and I am sure to run out of hot water, but ok. Just make sure you tell them you love them the night before because you will never get the chance again. Peep these fuckin razor claws, muh-fuh! Why you think I have these babies???

Then we will drive down to Portland to meet my parents who don’t come equipped with little kids, maddening political views, or hangups about my sex life and who have two bathrooms with a normal sized hot water heater. My goal this weekend is to make it to Sunday evening without murdering anyone’s offspring or letting on to my new boyfriend that I have bodily functions.

Have a great one, y’all.

P.S. There is a very strong possibility that Davy Rothbart may be staying in my parents’ guest apartment on his Portland, Maine tour date. I know, I can’t believe it either.

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