Okay, it wasn't eavesdropping. The conversation was conducted right in front of me.
My eldest son stayed here over the weekend, draping his 6'2" frame over a love seat. (That's how you keep your adult kids from coming back to stay. Don't give 'em a comfortable place to sleep, take away the satellite remote and watch stuff they hate, and never, ever let them check their Facebook on your laptop. They'll be there 48 hours, max.)
His best friend, who is probably six feet tall, bald and huge and looks like Mr. Clean, had to go out of town overnight and needed my son to come over and walk his dog. Since Best Friend has no girlfriend and no children, this dog, who is a hyperactive Jack Russell mix, is his baby. Eldest son went over and did his duty...and later that night had to report back to his friend about the dog. The conversation went like this:
"Hey, dude. Yeah, you got back okay? Cool. Frisky did what? Dude, I swear I took him out for a walk. Yeah, I promise. Hey, ask my dad. He drove me over there. Yes, Frisky pooped." (He didn't use the word "pooped", by the way.) "Yes, he did, I swear. What did it look like? Are you freaking serious, dude? Well, he laid two or three and they were about as big around as a hot dog and maybe five inches long apiece. No, he didn't have diarrhea." Pause. "Did I feed him anything besides what you normally do? Dude, would I give Frisky anything you wouldn't? My feelings are hurt." Another pause. "Okay. No problem. Peace out."
Eldest son turned his head and noticed me staring at him. "What, Mom?"
Sometimes there are no words.
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