Please help us?  Will you take us in?  Do you have room for two females?
One tiny dancing ferret and one crazy minded Wolfy?  Please help us ... I
beg you.  Because as it stands now this home is filled with the sound of
a steady drip.  An echoing "drip, drip, drip, drip".  It's the endless
dripping of testosterone that is nothing less than Chinese water torture.
 
I didn't mind it so much when my belching, nut scratching husband was
drenched in it.  Because lo and behold the children (hear the choir of
angels from above with this vision).  Cherubs were in my midst.  Then one
day, I watched in horror as two globes dropped lower and lower just like
the ball that is lowered on New Year's Eve in NY.  Clink.  Clink.  And it
was done.  Gone to the dark side was my eldest.  It began one day with
the act of standing among grown men who stood aimlessly around an outdoor
project.  Hands in their pockets.  Heads bowed.  Work undone.  It ended
with peni jokes at the dinner table.  My saving grace was my youngest
son, Sean.  He was my ray of sunshine.  But no longer.  I'm sad to say
that I've heard the unmistakable sounds again this week.  Only this time
it was a loud clank clank that followed a nose diving bungee jump by each
entity.  I barely heard the word, "bonsai" before hand.
 
I'll back up to last week, when my youngest son came home with the
giggles.  When asked what was so amusing, he told me that on a dare, he
plopped down into a seat next to a little girl, looked at her and in a
silly, deep tone, and said, "Hey baby, give me some sugar".  I asked what
she did.  He said that she punched his arm.  Hard.  I told him, "good for
her."
 
Yesterday, I sat down in the living room near Sean.  He looked at me, and
in that same silly, deep tone he said, "Hey baaaaaaybe, give me some
sugar".  Exasperated I asked, "Sean, have you said that to that little
girl again?"
 
"No."
 
"Hmmf.  Good.  What ... you afraid of her hitting and hurting you again?
You should be", I said with deep satisfaction.
 
"No.  Sometimes it feels good to get hit by a girl."
 
Seeing my shocked face, he went on, "I think so anyway."
 
I started to cringe up my face in a cross between fear and horror as
visuals of whips and chains for future birthday presents flew through my
mind, when he continued on, "When that girl hit me last week, my friend
goes, "God, that looked like that hurt".  I said, no actually it feels
good.  And he said, "Dude get away from me, cause you're really freaking
me out."  Why mom?  What's the matter??  It does!  It feels really good
when a girl ..."
 
"SEAN, I don't want to hear anymore." I covered my ears up, and sang, "La
la laaaa la la laaaa".
 
My ferret seems to be in the same sort of boat as I.  She has resorted to
refusing to go in her liter pan where all of the stinky boys go.  If they
sputter and spatter as much as human males, I can't say that I blame her.
I've locked out all males from one of the bathrooms.  They are no longer
welcome.  But you never escape testosterone because it follows you and
clings to you.  The poor thing goes to bed in a snug, fresh sleep sack
and wakes up with huge paws plopped on top of her and butts in her face.
She always looks the same when she wakes up.  Disbelief spread across her
face as she realizes that the creatures have found her yet again.  She
drags herself forward out of the tangle of male bodies to free her
not-so-fresh self.  I can relate.  Because it's the same expression that
I wear on my face when I wake up ... with a butt in my face and legs
draped on top of me while the three human males watch TV or nap.
 
Well, Dippy's here.  With her belongings slung over her shoulder waiting
for me to pack my bags as well.  So, what do I tell her?
 
Wolfy
http://wolfysluv.jacksnet.com
[Posted in FML issue 4980]