Nobody believes that I hide the brand-name stuff when my parents visit, but I do.
Then I usually forget where I put everything and have to go buy more.
Right now, I can't find the Advil.
And I need the Advil, because I fell down the stairs last night and got banged up head to toe. Which is all THEIR fault.
I tried to tuck them in by 10, but no, they HAD to watch Anderson Cooper. Followed by Jon Stewart. And then Colbert. At 72 decibels.
After that, I said enough. Lights out. They didn't have to sleep. They could just lie there quietly.
But no. One of them sneaked downstairs and turned on the heat. Mom sneaked down for the last of the pumpkin pie ice cream. My stepdad sneaked down for bourbon. (Usually, I remember to hide it because I have rules against Alcoholics and Diabetics killing themselves under my roof, but I'd been making sweet potato soup with it and forgot it was out.)
They "sneak" and "creep" about like a herd of elephants. Doors slam. Windows rattle. Bowls and glasses get dropped.
Part of this is because they can't hear, so they don't know how much noise they make.
Part of it is, they refuse to turn on the lights, and instead use their flashlights to stumble around the house in the dark -- don't ask me why, but I THINK it's because they think it's less obtrusive, and they won't disturb anybody.
They are somewhat less than successful.
Thru all this, I got up several times -- mainly to go downstairs to get something to drink, to chase down more Ambien.
Everytime I did, I'd quietly shut their bedroom door -- so I could turn on the @?#* lights and figure out where I was going.
Everytime I did, one of them would pop their little heads up like whack-a-mole: "Leave that open!! It's stuffy in here!!" (Yeah. Maybe because they turned the HEAT on when it was 60 degrees outside.)
So I'd turn the lights back off and just feel my way thru the house by memory.
Except my memory forgot that they'd ALSO re-arranged all the furniture (in anticipation of improving on my rudimentary vacuuming skills).
That's how I managed to catch my foot on an end table; fall over it (where the edge stabbed me solidly in the ribcage); and then grab it and take it with me as I tumbled down four or five stairs before my head conveniently broke my fall on the left bannister.
This is where them being half-deaf came in handy. (That, and my Lenten resolution against swearing. Mostly I just moaned and whimpered, and let me tell you, it is not nearly as satisfying.)
My mom happened to notice I was black and blue from head to toe as I was headed out the door to work.
My (admittedly less-than-rational) response was "LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!!" and told her that's what she got for turning on the stoopid heat and leaving the stoopid bedroom door open and turning the stoopid lights off.
She just patted my head, handed me a BioFreez patch, and said reproachfully, "Well you shoulda turned the lights on Goofy. You know we can sleep thru anything."
Now I just gotta go buy more Advil. And Ambien.