At least mine is.
We moved into our new house in October. There are three bathrooms. One downstairs, one in the master bedroom and another one upstairs. My son has the second upstairs bathroom to himself. However, a month after we moved into the house, my parents moved to our town. They stayed with us for several months until their new house was ready. In fact, they just moved out 6 weeks ago. Now, while my parents lived here, they shared Nick’s bathroom and my mom kept it clean. Since Mom left, I’ve been sending Nick, at least once a week, to clean his bathroom. However, because he is almost 17 years old, I haven’t been double checking his work. Big mistake. This morning, I went into his bathroom to drop off some clean towels. It was, as usual, tidy on the surface. The sink was clean enough, the toilet was fine – no surprise as I just sent him up to clean yesterday… usually I look no further than that. Today, however, I opened the shower door. Disgusting isn’t even the word. Is there such a word as fusgusting? Well, there should be. Nick’s shower was fusgusting! Mold, soup scum, some sort of mysterious greenish crud… it looked like trolls (not SDMB trolls, I mean under-the-bridge-dwelling, billy-goat-eating trolls) had been showering in there. This kid takes two showers a day - how the hell could he stand to get in there? Of course, the condition of the shower kind of accounts for the two-showers-a-day thing. I’m sure he’s been dirtier when he gets out of that shower than when he gets in.
So, I cleaned it up (which took some time, some elbow grease and a gallon or so of Simple Green) and headed back downstairs, weak, shaky and nauseous, wanting nothing more than a cold beer and a nice lay-down on the couch. However, on my way to the stairs, I passed Nick’s room, which was, on the surface, fairly neat. Now, I put his clean clothes away, so I knew that his dresser and closet are in reasonably decent shape. But, I’ve never looked under his bed. Loopy from cleaning-solvent fumes, I entered his room, dropped to my knees, and lifted the bedskirt. Well. There was a mountain of crap under there. I’m surprised the bed sits even on the floor. There were crumpled up homework papers, old tests and scraps of paper with phone numbers and email addresses. There were a dozen books under there – my books, BTW, one of which I’ve been looking for for weeks. 6 empty soda cans and countless candy wrappers and crumpled up potato chip bags. And (this is the fusgusting part) there were 8 pairs of dirty underpants. Now, if you don’t have a 16 year old boy, have never known a 16 year old boy or have never been a 16 year old boy, you might wonder why a 16 year old boy would stuff his skivies under his bed. I’ll give you a hint: The last thing I pulled from under his bed was a copy of Playboy, dated 1998 with a picture of Pamela Anderson on the cover. Eeew! Where’s a Hazmat suit when I need one?
16 year old boys are fusgusting.
Jess (off to have that beer and that nap)