Boys From Vegas

So the boy made it safely home from Vegas the other night (oddly, I already wrote this blog but my computer decided to shut down at the exact moment I was ready to publish it.) And alas, he was not with strippers, but was "doing so well at the blackjack tables I didn't want to leave." Nevermind that it was 11pm and he hadn't called me all day. Oh well.

Boy actually makes it home at about the wee hours of the morning on a day when I have to get up in the wee hours of the morning to "teach." (I'm a little worried that I feel the need to put that in quotation marks. Hmm.) Boy proceeds to make lots of noise moving vehicles outside. i thoughtfully kept my car in the garage because I finally realized how nice the boy had it all this time. Boy lets dog out. Boy turns on all the lights in the whole damn house. Lights that shine directly into my bedroom. Boy throws keys/cash/business cards for escort services on his bureau. Boy already drives me crazy and makes me wish for another few nights of solitude. Boy growls at me. Boy goes into the bathroom for a remarkably long period of time. Note that this is before he A. Says a proper hello to me B. Kisses me C. Confesses how he is incapable of tying his shoes without me, the best person in the world, around to help him
Boy is still in bathroom. I don't know. I guess I just never have the urge to finish a novel on the crapper. I'm in and out in less than 2 minutes. Anyway, I tell boy he's pooped enough for one night, and boy proceeds to tell me about the two chili dogs he had earlier that day and that no, he hasn't quite gone enough. Ten minutes later boy finally comes to bed. He starts telling me about his trip. I growl and roll over. We both decided it's time to go to bed.