All I asked him to do was take care of a little recycling. Just one milk jug to be exact. Remove the lid, crush the container. Simple, right?
Except the him in this story is my 15-year-old son. Boys don’t take the simple route.
This is how it went down. I was minding my own business baking some banana bread. The afternoon was peaceful. Last I looked my son was playing computer games.
All I remember is being scared out of my wits. I gave a startled shout and instinctively whirled around to confront the source of the loud noise and something else I couldn’t quite place. I was looking straight into the wide, frightened eyes of my son. One glance down and everything registered.
Not one to be boring, my son decided it would be more fun to place the milk jug on the floor and jump on it. Yeah! That sounds like a good idea! No need to notice the direction the jug is pointed. No need to analyze the potential trajectory of the lid. It only took a second for me to place the thing I couldn’t quite place before. Pain. In the butt. Not to be confused with my son, mind you.
After the shock wore off and the yelling ended, I just had to laugh.