Testosterone IS a Weapon of Mass Destruction

Men complain all the time about women and their "moods". Those men who have found themselves the only man in a household full of estrogen whine amazingly loudly about the trials and tribulations they have to endure, as the only representative of their gender in their castle. Single men joke around about avoiding their girlfriends during certain moon cycles, and married men make plans for large amounts of chocolate to be on hand periodically.

Those men? Are clueless. Absolutely clueless.

They say that a person is blind to his own faults. And while I still have no idea just who, exactly, "they" are, I am in agreement with them on this point. You see... men, for all that they believe themselves to be constantly victimized and held hostage by the estrogen producers in their lives....are, in reality, the true terrorists. Their hormonal quirks far outweigh those of any woman I know.

Although I might just be convinced of this due to the fact that I am the only woman in a house packed to the rafters with testosterone. And let me tell you what a truly awesome and amazing joy that is. (I'm assuming that even if you don't know me personally, at this point you know me well enough to hear the sarcasm that practically oozes from that last statement.)

Coach was in a bad mood today. He was kind enough to tell all of us that, as an explanation of sorts as to why he was being such a wienie. Naturally, that led the boys and I to question....had the Redskins lost today? No, they won, so that wasn't it. We'd left the phone off the hook all day, so he hadn't been bothered by bill collectors during any football games. We even had some fairly decent snack food in the house. We were stumped.

But it got worse.

Jock, having been gently nudged by his father to get his room clean, decided this afternoon was a fantastic time to try out those new wings he's been sprouting. The problem with new wings, though, is that until you're fully comfortable with them, they make several noises that sound suspiciously like disrespectful snottiness directed towards parental units. Which, of course, led to Jock spending a much longer time in his room than he otherwise might have.

Bug, who at ten years old is fine-tuning the art of the whine, had apparently settled on today being the best day to practice perfecting that art. He also was gently nudged by the benevolent and patient man that is his father to locate the floor in his bedroom. It still continues to amaze me, even though it shouldn't after being a parent for 15 years, how loud and obnoxious the art of whining actually gets. In an attempt to drown it out.... I mean, enhance Bug's creativity....I didn't even flinch when he turned his stereo up to a level designed to overshadow Jock's.

You're familiar with the Dueling Banjos? We had dueling stereos. As a bonus, they were on the same station, just set to different decibels. Although I could have told them both that all that thumping was really doing was just shaking more dust around for them to clean up. It wasn't helping them clean at all. But, in the interest of harmony, I held my tongue.

I also hid in the laundry room today. A lot. Because apparently during the Great Room Remodel projects, several items of clothing could be heard singing one line from the hymn Amazing Grace...

I once was lost, but now am found....

There was a lot of discovering going on today.

Stupid testosterone.