Bridesmaids and the Mother of the Boys

We finally watched Bridesmaids the other night, all of us, the boys included. Trying to find something everyone would like these days is difficult. Number Two loves anything that he thinks we would deem inappropriate, Number One won't watch anything even remotely scary and Number Three doesn't really know what he wants to watch but he knows it can't be for little kids. As for me, I hate blow 'em up, car chase movies. I don't mind a clever thriller a la The Italian Job and my Other Half, let's just say he sat through Something Borrowed for me without complaining.

So we ended up watching Bridesmaids which I thought they'd sit through if only to see the bridal salon/food poisoning scene and I was right. They loved it, Melissa McCarthy in particular. I am hoping most of the innuendo went over their heads and we did have to fast forward through the sex scenes but the thing that really hit home for me wasn't the whole over-the-top wedding, it was the friend who was the mother of three boys who needed a real Bachelorette Party to get away from the animals in her house. That, I could identify with. My house is all male, as I might have mentioned a few times. Even the dog, while neutered, is still a boy and, like most boys, he pees everywhere. My life consists of shopping for, cooking of and cleaning up massive quantitities of food (and only one of the three is officially a teenager) I do laundry every other day and it consists mostly of dingy, mismatched gym socks because they are always left on the floor where the dog finds and enjoys his most favourite snack (don't even ask what they look like when they come out the other end)

But the worst part in the movie is when the MOB talks about how everything in her house is "sticky" I don't even want to contemplate this stage. I remember reading a blog post a while ago (back when my boys were still cute and smelled like bubble bath) about giving teenage boys an endless supply of tube socks. At first I thought, I guess that makes sense, although for some bizarre reason my boys and all their friends only wear tiny little ankle socks, the kind I used to play tennis in, even in the dead of winter when they refuse to wear boots they have a half an inch of bare skin showing between their shoes and pants (they also grow at an alarming rate and I can't keep up with it so half the time their pants are floods) But I digress. Back to the tube socks. Apparently they are great containment vessels.

It took me a while to get it so I'll give you a moment.

Get it? I know. Gross. Really? That's what those long, stretchy socks that come in 12 packs are for? I don't even want to think about it. So while most women enjoyed the story of two best friends learning to appreciate one another, all I could think about was the fact that up until now the worst mess I have had to contend with is the one on the walls and around the base of the toilet. I am so not ready for Stage Two of Teenage Boys.