Ghetto Chic: Part Deux

If you remember way back when—a few months ago—I wrote about our ghetto couch that the boys had jumped on and torn and that I had duct taped and from which Jason had removed the legs.  That couch has since found a more appropriate home underneath the garage sale pile that is currently sitting in our garage.
However, we have not given up our ghetto chic lifestyle.  Quite the contrary actually.  When a girl becomes accustomed to a certain lifestyle, well, let’s just say it’s hard to live any other way.  Some women love to shop for shoes, and they shop for shoes every day.  Some like to take long, luxurious trips, and they do that a lot.  Me, I like to maintain a sort of trailer-park-esque décor in our house, and by golly, I spend a lot of time perfecting that look.
Yesterday I had help.
After about 20 billion-million-gazillion trips upstairs to remind the boys that they really needed to pretty-please-with-a-cookie-on-top stay in their beds, Jason snapped.  Truly and completely.  Snapped.  It wasn’t like a head-spinning-around or a call-the-exorcist kind of snapped.  It was more like a calm, can’t-really-tell-if-he’s-clinically-insane-or-not kind of thing.  So no one was particularly alarmed when he calmly and methodically made his way up the stairs AGAIN toward the boys’ room.
In fact, I wasn’t really alarmed until I saw him coming down the stairs carrying the boys’ door.  And I didn’t really think about getting out the straight jacket until he carried the door into the garage and fired up the power tools.  Then, I became ever so slightly concerned.  And irritated—dang it, who was he to make me PAUSE the latest episode of ‘Snapped’ so that I could participate in our own real-life reenactment?
I figured it was time I try to talk the jumper down from the roof, so I very discreetly and gently asked him what the HELL he was DOING?
“Well…” (Insert maniacal laugh here.)  “I am fixing the problem.”
Um, ok.  I was sort of under the impression that we would need to have a serious chat with the boys to fix the problem of them roaming the house like cat burglars all night long, but evidently all we needed to do was saw the door in half.  Yes, I said SAW the door.  IN HALF.  (The nice little men in their little white coats are coming to take him away…)
So up the stairs he marched, now carrying HALF a door.  The boys watched him wide-eyed, as he flipped the lock so that it would be on the outside and then attached the half door back to the hinges.  Voila!  Why didn’t I think of that?  (Oh yeah, maybe because I’m sane.)
He sort of reminded me of Chevy Chase right after everything went wrong in Christmas Vacation—you know, where he saws part of the railing off the staircase, right after he chases the squirrel through the house.  All he needed was a Santa hat and a cup of egg nog—he already had the insanity gleam in his eyes.
While he put the stable gate (formerly known as a door) back on the hinges, the boys just stared at him wide-eyed, like they were waiting for him to put on a tutu and tap dance while juggling flaming swords.  Yeah, he was that loony.  But the boys were quiet.  I’m pretty sure they thought their dad had finally lost his last remaining marble.  And I think I sort of might agree with them.

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