I think we need family counseling.

Today, my son came home from school crying because someone had "politely informed" him that Halloween was in October and that it was November now. He flew right through that front door and said, "Mom, am I an idiot or something?" and I said, "No honey, why?" and he said "BECAUSE EVERYONE AT SCHOOL HATES ME AND THINKS I HAVE AN IQ OF THIRTY-SEVEN BECAUSE APPARENTLY I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT MONTH IT IS!!" He then ran upstairs and slammed his door, which I will have to have a talk with him about tomorrow after school because I am tired of having to get Johnny to replace the damn hinges every two weeks. It's not that it's annoying to fix the door - I wouldn't know because I'm not the one fixing it - but it's rather that Johnny absolutely goes apeshit every time I very politely ask him to do so. He's all, "Damnit Gertie, I have a full time job which requires me to do a lot of thinking like very bizarre people! Why can't you ask Hannibal to fix the goddamn thing? It might stop him from 'going to the casino' so much! God knows the kid is not my child anyway! Those bad habits? He gets those from Lecter, not me! I have no bad habits!"

To which I ceaselessly reply, "Except your obvious anger issues?"

Last time Michael broke the door, we actually had to enlist professional aid in getting Johnny to some long-overdue anger management classes. Even the police, who took a break from chasing this house-egging miscreant from two houses down, Frederick, to come solve our little "domestic dispute", said it was pretty much required that Johnny attend anger management immediately. So off we went in the car, leaving poor Robert alone with Michael. On the way out I whispered through gritted teeth to him, "Look, I know you have your huge PhilosoFun presentation tomorrow, but try to get the mask." And Robert was all, "WHAT?" and he made a grimace like I was asking him to move the moon, and I said, "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO HUSBANDS DOING NICE THINGS FOR THEIR WIVES????"

I think that soon, if this nonsense doesn't stop, Johnny may not be the only one who needs anger management.

So a raging Johnny and I get into the car, and at this point, Hannibal is still "at the casino". About four minutes in, when I'm turning onto the street where Michael's dyslexic buddy Jason and his mother used to live before his mother had a midlife crisis and sold her shitty green house to buy a similar shitty green house on our street, Robert calls my cell phone. I answer, all pissed off and snotty-sounding, like, "Hello?", and he's all, "How do I get the mask." He says this very emotionlessly and without a question mark in his voice, which indicates that Michael is somewhere nearby, probably drinking ridiculous amounts of milk in the kitchen again.

So I'm all, "Do what I do. Threaten to withhold his allowance forever until he takes the bloody thing off."

And then Robert gets all snarly like, "Well, obviously what you do doesn't WORK because he still has the MASK."

So I avoid, because obviously, he's having a bitch-fit and there's no talking to Robert when he's having a bitch fit. "RobertIcan'ttalkrightnowI'mdriving!" I say very quickly and snappishly, like a piranha plant from Super Mario Brothers, which I used to be addicted to, by the way. Only the Game Cube version though. I snap the phone closed before he can say ONE MORE WORD.

So now I'm home, about to get ready for bed. Hannibal's late tonight from the "casino". He's going to come back soon and Robert will put him on another of his guilt trips seasoned with philosophical quotations from people that could be Jesus's grandpa, and we're all going to be up until two. And Michael is going to be grumpy in the morning, both because he "didn't get any sleep" and also because I just realized we have no Froot Loops left and that is going to make him angry.

It never ends! I think I'm going to have to play some Super Mario tomorrow, just can't take the stress.

Until next time,
Love,
Gertie.