My parental units' itch for grandfreeloaders, which has grown into a full-blown rash these past few years, is approaching seven years. That's important because Wife and I have been married for nearly five. As for Mom and Dad-in-law, that itch has been something they could treat with cortisone cream, a little dab here, a squirt there and that urge to scratch goes away. However, I think they need a bigger tube of the junk these days.
I think their desire for grandfreeloaders is some diabolical plot for revenge against us. Some modern-day "Cask of the Amantillado," where they wall us into our tomb by spoiling and sugaring-up the freeloaders before sending them back home. Wife and I were both perfect angels during our formative years, though, never questioning authority, picking up our toys and always eating our brussel sprouts. No, no, we were no trouble. Our sibling freeloaders, well, they were another story. We just can't break the units' code for this elaborate scheme. I'm ready to stake out the Hemet Senior Center and The Manor Next Door, wait for the respective units to depart for dinner at 4 p.m. (that's when old people eat so they can have energy to make it through the 6 p.m. news without falling asleep), make their daily trip to the pharmacy, or wherever the heck units go without their freeloaders, so I can slip in and attach some bugs to their Metamucil or Maalox jars because they're never too far away from those necessities. This way, Wife and I can get to the bottom of their shifty scheme. I'm thinking mind control of our freeloader hatchlings is the units' end goal, but without surveillance we don't know for sure.
And we thought both sets of units would be placated with grandpuppies. No wonder they didn't fall over in uninhibited joy when we told them they were grand units to a pair of lovely, healthy doggies. They're not much different. Just last night, Wife handed out two different-flavored bones and both pooches eyed the other's treat then looked back to wife, then back to treat before sulking off to their doggy beds - yeah, doggy BEDS (I'm lucky if I get a sliver of mattress from Wife and the three cats, yet the pooches get their own Sleep Number beds) - all the while wondering if the other really had the better bone.
This behavior isn't saved for just flavored bones, either. Wife and I give each pup her own dinner bowl. They munch away as if they had never seen food before, yet they cast sidelong glances at the other's bowl. We can see the hamster turning in their canine heads, "Her food looks the same, but is it really? She's eating it quick, and she's drooling. Dammit! It's gotta be better than this crap. Holy Shit! They like her better. I knew it. I bet it's hamburger, or eggs or chicken. Christ! Those humans are screwing me over and giving that one all the spoils. And look at them, they're laughing. That's it, I'm poopin' by the pool table again. That will show them for giving me this swill."
We've practiced parental unitness on the pooches for four-and-a-half years now and haven't had to call on the $65 shot. So I guess we passed the test. And really, raising a freeloader and pooch is the same thing. OK, one walks on all fours and poops where it feels like, the other walks on two pudgy sticks and poops wherever it likes. Yep, no difference. I've also talked it over with Wife, and discipline for freeloaders will be much the same as with the pups - you do something bad, outside you go. Lucky for freeloaders, they have opposable thumbs and can turn the knob on the shed for some shelter on those cold Arizona nights (yeah, right). They can even sleep in the wheel barrow. Not exactly the Marriot, but it's better than sleeping in botanical garden of weeds known as the back yard grass. A couple nights in the wheel barrow will cure their badness and we'll have the perfect little Brady freeloader(s) (just as long as it's not Jan, I never trusted that bitch).
Am I ready for a freeloader? I'd like to think so, but I guess until that egg hatches and the offspring comes out looking for the car keys and $20 for pizza you don't know. Then, you're in charge of warping their minds, too. Wait, that doesn't sound so bad:
"Why should I hate the San Francisco Giants, Daddy?"
"Well, because they fry little kids in a huge pan before every game and then feed them to the Giants players. That's why none of them smile. Well, that and they have bad teeth, too. The Dodgers, on the other had, give little kids pony rides before each game and let's you eat all the ice cream you want."
Oh yeah, I'm ready. Bring on the freeloaders.
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