Patrick has developed a fascination with the bathroom sink that borders on fetish.
"Hams? Hams? Wash hams?" he'll ask 50 times a day, climbing up on his little blue stool to wash his hands. And because he comes from mischievous stock (Larrys' younger sister suffered severe burns from climbing into the bathroom sink and turning on the hot water when she was just Patrick's age), I've been drilling him about Hot and Cold since birth. "HOT HOT, NO TOUCH!" he'll say, pointing to the hot faucet. And then he'll promptly turn on the cold water and start washing his hams.
So, last night, Larry was taking out the recycling, and I was putting away the laundry, and Gus suddenly started laughing and screaming and jumping up and down and pointing at the bathroom.
Sure enough, there was Patrick, presiding over the sink, and splashing the walls and ceiling while water gushed onto the floor and out into the hall.
"NO, PATRICK!" I screamed. "Nnononononononononononononono!"
"Wahner?" he said, beaming.
"YES, WAHNER! WAHNER ALL OVER THE FLOOR! THAT WAS SO NAUGHTY!"
He's looking up at me with those huge eyes: "Naughty? Wahner? Hot?"
It's like being angry at the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Impossible.
Sigh. "You did use cold water to flood the bathroom. I guess I should commend you for that."
So I took all the clean towels I'd just put away and used them to mop up the floor, all the while muttering my new brand of modified obscenities (patent pending!), which Gus was repeating verbatim from the kitchen two rooms away. He was all, "All I do is clean this FUFFING house" and "you'd think for one DAN second I could take my eyes off you people ..."
Meanwhile, if I'm standing right next to him, he doesn't hear me say FINISH YOUR RAVIOLI.
The reason the sink overflowed was that there was a plastic ball clogging the drain. And, as Larry quickly discovered, an Elmo toothbrush.
Editors Note: Turns out it was a Reach! toothbrush. Not an Elmo toothbrush. Figures. The Reach! toothbrush was designed to get into those hard-to-reach places.
While Larry was working on the drain, Gus was doing his nightly swim practice in the bathtub. "Watch this," he says. "I am the lifeguard of myself." Then he "blows a whistle" (i.e. SHRIEKS LIKE A BANSHEE) and dives under water, smacking his knees on the bottom of the tub. It drives Larry completely insane.
"I can't do this while they're in here," he said.
(Area Husband Requires Silence, Wire Hanger to Complete Man Task)
"It's okay," I said. "He's the lifeguard of himself. You don't even have to pay attention to him."
"Seriously. I have no patience for these guys this week," he said. "They're killing me."
Woah. This is big. I thought Larry's reserves were endless. Like a camel's.
CHECK YOUR OTHER HUMP! I thought frantically.
Because if he has no patience for the boys. And I have no patience for the boys ... that leaves us only one option:
We're going to have to sell them. (And, probably throw in a towel.)