Chapter 1: We call him Dementia Boy<\/strong><\/p>\nEdward was naked, of course, except for the polka dot bandana he always wore like a mask on these special occasions. And he was using the upstairs bathroom window, this time \u2014 the puny one over the toilet \u2014 so I should have been spared the worst of the show. No such luck. By climbing on the toilet and turning his back to the window, he could press his butt against the glass, mooning me (and anyone else who happened to be looking). Then he\u2019d crouch, spin around and wave \u2014 Dementia Boy in a polka dot mask \u2014 before starting his I\u2019m-a-dork routine all over again.<\/p>\n
Butt…polka dots…butt…polka dots…<\/em><\/p>\nIf anyone discovered a drug that could cure what was wrong with my brother, they\u2019d make millions.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, they\u2019ll be fine on the plane alone,\u201d Mom said. \u201cMonica\u2019s 14, now, so she can keep an eye on Edward…can\u2019t you, Monica?\u201d Mom was looking at me and smiling, but not with her real smile. It was her tight, fake smile. It was her If old Mrs. Frieson sees what Edward\u2019s doing in that window, she\u2019s going to have another stroke<\/em> smile.<\/p>\n\u201cBesides, it\u2019s only eight hours to England \u2014 he\u2019ll probably sleep through most of it,\u201d she added, nodding like mad, trying to get me to agree.<\/p>\n
Butt…polka dots…butt…polka dots…<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cSure, Mom, he\u2019ll have no trouble sitting still for eight hours, as long as we kill him, first,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Okay, that\u2019s what I wanted<\/em> to say. Instead, I just smiled \u2014 my own version of the tight, fake smile \u2014 as I slowly shuffled to the left, trying to get old Mrs. Frieson between me and the window so she\u2019d have her back to Dementia Boy. Mom shuffled along the sidewalk beside me, following my lead. It looked like a scene from one of those wild animal shows where a predator slowly circles its prey…except these<\/em> predators were two crazed, smiling idiots, and the prey was a balding 82-year-old woman hunched over a walker.<\/p>\nButt…polka dots…butt…polka dots…<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWell, I just don\u2019t think it\u2019s smart to let children fly all that way on their own,\u201d said Mrs. Frieson. She glared at my shuffling feet, then moved her walker so she could face us again.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom\u2019s flying over in a couple of days, after her last surgery,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd we\u2019re staying with my grandma. We\u2019ll be fine.\u201d My mom\u2019s a pediatric gastroenterology nurse. That means she takes care of kids after doctors have been poking around in their bellies trying to make their intestines work properly. You don\u2019t want the details, believe me.<\/p>\n
Butt…polka dots…butt…polka dots…<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cBut where does your grandmother live? Is she near the airport? How will you even find her? This is ridiculous!\u201d Mrs. Frieson thumped her walker on the sidewalk for emphasis \u2014 I hadn\u2019t seen her this wound-up since she found Edward\u2019s dead spider collection in the mailbox.<\/p>\n
If I\u2019d had the nerve, I\u2019d have told her it was none of her business. After all, she\u2019s only our landlady. But I didn\u2019t have the nerve. And she\u2019s our landlady.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s in a little town called Old Warden, near Bedford,\u201d Mom said. \u201cAnd she\u2019ll pick them up at the airport. It\u2019s really no problem.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom\u2019s fake smile slid off her face as the bathroom window flew open.<\/p>\n
\u201cActually, Old Warden isn\u2019t a town, it\u2019s a village!\u201d Edward yelled through his polka dot mask, his scrawny chest hanging out the window. Even if puberty was incredibly kind to him, Edward was never going to be Tarzan material. \u201cIn England, a group of houses is called a hamlet. If there\u2019s a church, it\u2019s called a village. If there\u2019s a market, it\u2019s called a town. If there\u2019s a cathedral, it\u2019s called a city…\u201d<\/p>\n
Mrs. Frieson stared up at Edward with that glazed-over look that people get whenever he starts spouting facts. If there\u2019s anything worse than a demented kid, it\u2019s a demented kid who\u2019s also a walking dictionary.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, her eyes flew open. \u201cIs that boy naked<\/em>?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\u201cUm, well, yes…he\u2019s…he\u2019s a little precocious,\u201d Mom said. As if on cue, Mom and I both made a break for it, scuttling toward the front door. \u201cI have to get these kids packed!\u201d Mom called over her shoulder. \u201cHave a great weekend!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPrecocious! What\u2019s that<\/em> supposed to mean?\u201d Mrs. Frieson called out.<\/p>\n\u201cIt means he\u2019s a pain in the neck,\u201d I muttered, as I latched the door shut behind me.<\/p>\n
Mom ran up to the bathroom to make Edward put on his clothes. Seriously, how many 10-year-olds do you know who need to be told to wear clothes? If he wasn\u2019t such a great chess player, I would have drowned him in the tub years ago.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d had enough drama, so I went to my room to get packed. Big mistake.<\/p>\n
The smell of hair spray took my breath away. Probably a good thing, too, because what I wanted<\/em> to say wouldn\u2019t have scored any bonus points with \u201cPlease Get Along, Today\u201d Mom. You\u2019ve heard people talk about walking into a room where it looked like a bomb had gone off? Well, a bomb had<\/em> gone off \u2014 a bra<\/em> bomb. There must have been a dozen of them scattered all over the floor…plus a bright pink one dangling over my desk chair. My<\/em> desk chair. And standing in the middle of the whole mess was Shelley, wearing the only bra she hadn\u2019t pitched across the room like a Frisbee.<\/p>\n\u201cNone of these stupid things fit anymore!\u201d she yelled, waving her arms at her abandoned bra collection. \u201cWhat am I supposed to do now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t look at me,\u201d I muttered. I hooked one with my foot and kicked it onto her bed (I thought that added a nice dramatic touch, actually).<\/p>\n
Okay, I suppose I could have been nicer. Having The Incredible Expanding Chest couldn\u2019t be easy. Shelley had officially reached the farthest edge of the sexy scale this year. Soon she\u2019d be skidding right into \u201cbuxom cow\u201d mode. But, really, she was asking the wrong person for sympathy. True, I was finally buying regular-sized bras. But I could probably still fit comfortably into my old training bra \u2014 not that I was going to depress myself by trying \u2014 and I probably wouldn\u2019t have had any trouble running braless<\/em>, either.<\/p>\nIt was as if the gene fairy had been sick and tired of divvying things up fairly by the time she got to our family, so she just split the motherload right down the middle without giving it a second thought. Big boobs for Shelley…flat chest for me…long, slim legs for Shelley…short, dumpy legs for me…shiny blonde hair for Shelley…frizzy brown hair for me…perfect complexion for Shelley…straight A\u2019s for me…<\/p>\n
Okay, so it wasn\u2019t entirely bad. Me and my dumpy legs had won the 8th<\/sup> grade science award this year \u2014 while there was a pretty good chance Shelley and her colossal boobs were going to end up working at some fast food joint after high school. But once (just once) I\u2019d like to have to worry about whether a guy was only interested in me because of my looks. Seriously. Just once.<\/p>\nI made a sharp right and headed for my half of the room, holding my breath to avoid the hair spray fumes until I could get the window cranked open. Then I grabbed the bra she\u2019d tossed onto my chair \u2014 my<\/em> chair! \u2014 and sent it flying back onto her bed. The big ones fly surprisingly well.<\/p>\nNot that Shelley noticed. Now she was on a rampage, rummaging through her stuffed, overflowing dresser and muttering under her breath. But loudly<\/em> under her breath, of course…one of Shelley\u2019s mottos: if you\u2019re going to rant, it\u2019s important to speak clearly so your unwilling audience can hear you.<\/p>\n\u201cThese are all old lady undies,\u201d Shelley complained, as she pulled out a baggy pair and shook them, hard, to knock off the socks that were stuck to them. Drama Queens love static cling \u2014 it really adds to their performance.<\/p>\n
\u201cCripes, Shelley, we\u2019re only there for nine days \u2014 who\u2019s going to be looking at your underwear?\u201d I asked. \u201cBesides, you\u2019d have tons to wear if you did your laundry once in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAaaarrrggghhhh\u2026there\u2019s lots here<\/em>, it\u2019s just that none of it\u2019s sexy<\/em>,\u201d she said, flinging a handful of mismatched socks over her shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019re going to London. I want to look sexy!\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to Old Warden,\u201d I muttered. \u201cIt\u2019s almost two hours away from London \u2014 read a map once in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shelley started throwing clothes into her suitcase \u2014 and when I say throwing, I mean throwing<\/em>. Shelley didn\u2019t believe in folding anything. I opened the top drawer of my dresser. Bras on the left, underwear stacked neatly in the middle, socks in layers on the right. Why couldn\u2019t Shelley see how much easier life was when you could actually find<\/em> things \u2014 like socks that matched and bras that fit? Why couldn\u2019t she see how much nicer<\/em> things looked when they were organized?<\/p>\nMom scurried past the door with Edward\u2019s suitcase. \u201cPlease do not<\/em> let Auntie Gay bully you into packing up Grandma\u2019s things before I get there,\u201d she said. \u201cGrandma\u2019s really upset about the idea of moving into an old folk\u2019s home, so I want to smooth things over before we ask her to make any changes.\u201d<\/p>\nClose behind her \u2014 crouched low and scuttling down the hall warrior-style \u2014 was Edward. He was wearing a black t-shirt, black shorts, black socks and a black cape. He had his old bow and a bunch of arrows tucked under his arm (not real arrows, of course \u2014 Mom\u2019s not nuts \u2014 his<\/em> arrows had suction cups on the tips). As Edward followed Mom silently past the door, he never even glanced in to see what Shelley and I were doing. He never took his eyes off of Mom\u2019s back. Stealth Boy had targeted his prey.<\/p>\nI tucked two bras, five pairs of undies and five pairs of socks into the corner of my suitcase. I\u2019d pack light and use Grandma\u2019s washer.<\/p>\n
\u201cCrap!\u201d Shelley had yanked her sweater drawer out so far that it had dropped right onto her foot. Apparently, even divas need to show some restraint.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd please<\/em> don\u2019t let Auntie Gay make you do a ton of work to get things ready for her wedding,\u201d added Mom, as she raced past the door with an armload of Edward\u2019s clothes. \u201cHonestly, I think she\u2019s lost her mind \u2014 having such a huge wedding when she\u2019s 64…it\u2019s silly!\u201d Stealth Boy followed close behind, bow and arrow poised.<\/p>\nI slid the second drawer open. T-shirts. All folded neatly and color-coded, lightest ones on the left, darkest ones on the right. I pulled out one of each color so I could be sure to blend in.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s already picked out matching bridesmaid dresses for us \u2014 can you imagine?\u201d Mom called from Edward\u2019s room. \u201cShe hasn\u2019t even seen<\/em> you in four years. What makes her think she knows…Ouch! Dammit, Edward! Put those arrows away right now!\u201d Stealthboy had struck.<\/p>\nThird drawer. Sweaters. Favorites folded neatly on the left. Baggy, premenstrual, \u201cdon\u2019t look at me I feel ugly today\u201d sweaters on the right. I pulled out two of my favorites \u2014 no risk of PMS this week, and from what Mom had seen on the weather channel, it was going to be pretty warm over there, too.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hate<\/em> packing!\u201d Shelley muttered. No kidding. Now she was on her hands and knees, pulling dirty jeans and shirts out from the back of the closet. \u201cI\u2019ll be doing laundry all night \u2014 you just watch!\u201d I had no intention of watching, actually.<\/p>\nBottom drawer. Pants and shorts. This one was easy. Shorts meant shaving \u2014 a lot <\/em>of shaving. Ankles to undies shaving. Wearing pants meant just mowing down the worst of the fuzz tonight, then one more touchup the day of Auntie Gay\u2019s wedding. I picked out my three best pairs of jeans. Done \u2014 except for the bathroom stuff, of course.<\/p>\nThunk!<\/em><\/p>\nI have to admit, Edward is fast. I yanked the plastic arrow off my forehead and threw it back at him as I headed down the hall. True, there was a chance he\u2019d shoot me again. But there was also a chance he\u2019d go after Shelley, instead \u2014 and I\u2019d always wondered what he\u2019d look like with his head stuck in the toilet.<\/p>\n
Our bathroom…picture a tiny room crammed with everything they sell in Walmart\u2019s beauty department, then add enough bathtub toys to make Mickey Mouse vomit, and you\u2019ve pretty much got it pictured.<\/p>\n
The tub was half full<\/em> of old, faded, water toys \u2014 one of the many things that Edward was obsessed with and simply could not<\/em> throw out. And then there were the baskets \u2014 six of them crammed onto the tiny countertop, overflowing with Shelley\u2019s nail polish, makeup and skin care stuff. Plus a blow dryer, a straightener (for when she hates her hair because it\u2019s too wavy), a curling iron (for when she hates her hair because it\u2019s too straight), brushes, combs, gels, clips…<\/p>\nSeriously, if you wanted to know what color the counter was, you\u2019d need a shovel.<\/p>\n
Mom and I have one drawer each. And that\u2019s enough, too. All I desperately need are my tweezers. If not for my tweezers, I\u2019d have one big furry eyebrow \u2014 like a dead ferret draped across my forehead.<\/p>\n
I quickly packed \u2014 brush, hair bands, soap…you know the drill \u2014 then headed downstairs. My toothbrush could wait until after breakfast tomorrow. Until then, I\u2019d keep it tucked away in its usual safe spot at the back of my drawer. And actually, that\u2019s not as weird as it sounds. True, most people leave their toothbrushes on the counter, but think about it: there\u2019s a toilet<\/em> in the bathroom, and every time someone flushes it, bacteria fly up into the air. Do you want your toothbrush lying there with toilet water raining down on it? That\u2019s disgusting. No, mine stays hidden at the back of my drawer. Mine stays clean, thanks.<\/p>\nBang! Bang! Bang! Bang!…<\/em><\/p>\nI raced down the last few stairs just in time to see Mom throw open the front door. It was old Mrs. Frieson. Her hair \u2014 what was left of it, anyway \u2014 had been blown straight up by the wind. Her face was bright red. Her baggy old sweater was falling off her shoulders and she was holding onto her walker with one hand and waving a crooked finger at Mom with the other. She didn\u2019t look like she was going to have a stroke, anymore \u2014 she looked like she\u2019d just had<\/em> one.<\/p>\n\u201cThat boy of yours is on the roof,\u201d she sputtered. \u201cAnd he\u2019s naked again<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\nDone! Did you enjoy this chapter? Subscribe to my blog and you\u2019ll never miss my once-a-month posts! It\u2019s easy: Just enter your email address in the upper right corner of this page. I\u2019ll never sell, share, or rent your contact information, because I hate it when people do that.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Well, I haven\u2019t found another mouse since my last posting (Kill Bill Volume 3: Coming Soon to a Cutlery Drawer Near You), so I thought it might be time for a little silliness. Here, I\u2019m posting chapter 1 of my early teen novel, The Day I Washed My Face in the Toilet. If it catches […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_s2mail":"yes","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-231","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-funny-bits"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/231","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=231"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/231\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":243,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/231\/revisions\/243"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=231"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=231"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/brendakearns.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=231"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}