Thursday, May 7, 2009

Hands of Mass Destruction

The boy was most unimpressed last night when I woke him up at four in the morning to check out a "noise" (footsteps I tell you!) coming from our front verandah. Naked and armed with nothing but a large, long black baton (no, seriously, it's not a euphemism. He had an old Maglight) he crept with trepidation towards the glass door, then, with no hesitation at all, flicked the verandah light on and strolled out to greet the sleeping neighborhood and any potential robbers in the nick.


"Must have been a possum Kaz!" he yelled, as I cowered inside, comfy and covered in my bathrobe. (Yeah, a bloody big possum with human-sized feet and the ability to rattle doorknobs I thought.) When he arose at 5:30 am this morning to go to work he complained again about being woke up. "Robbers" he scoffed. Then ridiculed me with, "Ohh, what's that noise? What's that noise. Anyway the dog would have barked. (I strongly doubted that. The dog does a lot of things, usually destructive, but it doesn't seem to mind intruders).
"And why did you give me the maglight," he quizzed. "I don't need a baton to thwack a robber in the head by the way."
"What were you going to use then?" I asked, mildy interested in the answer and expecting some predictable early morning macho talk, potentially relating to unmentionable male parts.
"My fists," he rolled his eyes and put up his dukes. "My fists are weapons of mass destruction," he boasted.
"No," I responded as he left the room. "If what I busted you doing in the lounge room the other day is anything to go by, your fists are weapons of mass debation."
I don't think he'll be getting up to check on any would-be robbers anytime soon so hopefully the crims (and the man-sized possums) leave us alone for now!