If you give a Vrees a pancake...

Well, last night ended up being quite a story. Do you want the long version or the short version? Take your pick.

Short version: Jason Vrees is now staying in one of our guest rooms for a few days.

Long version: Mary-Sue and her husband, Alfred Benedict, are getting separated. Why? Well, according to Jason, it's because Alfred snores too much and apparently just got a DUI for driving his snow plough at ridiculous speeds down Main Street after consuming steroids, and apparently, Mary-Sue was all, "THAT IS THE LAST STRAW." and a huge fight broke out, ending in a ten P.M. call to the lawyer's home to receive divorce papers.

I'm not sure I entirely believe Jason, though - or Mary-Sue, for that matter. I do believe this whole situation is probably more Mary-Sue's fault than Alfred's, because everything always seems to lead back to Mary-Sue at some point, and of course, Jason is far too much of a momma's boy to not believe everything that comes out of her mouth. I always knew her overtly intense protection of this boy due to his "delibitating, life-threatening dyslexia" would someday harm him... Oh well. It is neither my business nor my place to make judgment, which is why I only do it here, on my blog.

So this is what's going on: last night, Jason fled from his painfully small home across the street because he just couldn't take the infernal spoon-throwing and "Wellwhat'sgoingtohappentoJASONNOW?"s in the kitchen. He's always been a fairly sensitive boy. So I took pity on him and told him he could stay with us until the whole thing is resolved. I'm not entirely sure Michael knew about all this until this morning. As typical, he'd been "doing his homework" (and listening to Korn on maximum volume) in his room when it all went down... and we put Jason straight to bed, afraid the poor dear would asphyxiate himself with all that hyperventilation. So, judging from Michael's excited display of "OHMYGODWHATTHEHELLJASONWHYAREYOUINMYKITCHEN!!" this morning, I think it's safe to say that that infernal Korn made him pretty oblivious to everything until just recently.

Come to think of it, I'm starting to regret letting Jason stay a little. It didn't seem like such a bad idea until I saw the kitchen and had to tell an irritable Hannibal to go clean the breakfast items scattered on the ceiling and walls. Oh well. As long as I don't have to clean it, I'm good. Still, Michael and Jason are the type of kids you tell teachers to separate in school if they want them to learn any semblant of a thing throughout the entire school year. And also if they themselves want to avoid their classroom becoming a smaller version of hell.

Meh. I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle for a few days. As long as they don't get into any little quarrels... that is not something I ever want to bear witness to again, thank you very much. Once was quite enough.

Things are going according to plan so far, though. Because we have company, I didn't want to make the regular, boring old grilled cheese I always serve up for breakfast, and so as soon as I woke up, I went outside to the barn where Hannibal sleeps and I delicately shoved him, trying to wake him up.

He's all, "Hmmmmmuuuhhhh?" and I said, "Hannibal! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes, and I said, "Hi, honey. Did you sleep well?"

He's all, "I WAS sleeping well, before you rudely interrupted..."

I decided to ignore this. "Can you please come to the kitchen and make pancakes?"

"WHYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYY?" Hannibal grunted whinily, variating the intensity and volume of his Ys like a woman PMSing, or like Michael this one time when some jerk from school shot him in the head.

I sighed and crossed my arms, annoyed at his immaturity. "BecausehoneywehaveGUESTS. And the only thing I can cook is grilled cheese!"

Hannibal threw his head back like someone was repeatedly electrocuting him. "Some housewife you are! ... Ask Johnny to do it?"

"You lazy ass..." I sighed again. "Johnny is at work, slaving over camera angles, and we need to be grateful because he is the primary breadwinner for this household."

"AskRobert," Hannibal hissed.

I looked at him like a deer might look at an oncoming scooter that it thought was an eighteen wheeler from far away and that scared the shit out of it - or like my dear son might look at some crazy girl at Wal-Mart hitting him across the head with a two-by-four, like, Is-that-really-all-you've-got? This actually happened. We had to get a restraining order. "Hannibal, have you SEEN Robert's cooking? Come on, for poor little Jason Vrees's sake, GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MAKE THE BOY SOME FREAKING GOSH DARN PANCAKES."

Hannibal got up. "You know his name's Voorhees, right?"

"I. Don't. Freaking. Care. Make. Pancakes. Now."