Deodorant

It's the deodorant that really gets to me.

As I've mentioned, both boys are home for the summer. I come home and every kitchen cabinet door is open, dirty dishes clutter the counter, greasy pots and pans crowd the stovetop, the toilet stands unflushed, impossibly gargantuan shoes litter all the rooms, wet towels wind their way through the hallway, and seed pods cover the sofa (Hugh is addicted to sunflower seeds; it's like living with a Really Big Squirrel).

I cope. Barely.

And then, there sits the deodorant stick. Atop the coffee table. Perched on my laptop. Nestled amidst the kitty bowls.

And I totally lose it.

I mean, who are these creatures? Why can't they perform their ablutions in the bathroom, like normal people? Why must they wander around the house with deodorant? Geez louise. Didn't their mother teach them anything?

Dang.