is there no sanctity . . .

left in our home? Have we slipped entirely over the edge. Has reason flown out the window?

We have been looking for a lamp for the 9TS's man-room, for those yearly ground breaking occasions when I am invited in . . . when I am allowed to tread in his territory. It is the rare invitation.

But, in the winter, when the rest of the downstairs is chilly, and the 9TS has the heat in his room cranked to equator like temps . . . at that point we often nosh in there while watching Cash Cab. The sloth apparently, can see in the dark. Eating in the dark, is therefore no problem for him. I, on the other hand, am blind as a bat in the dark . . . and haven't any sonar . . . and like to see what I am putting in my mouth.

Finally, the other day, we found an el cheapo lamp that fit the bill. Strong enough to bring forth light into my world, high enough to clear the back of the recliner, spiffy enough to have passed the 9TS's discerning taste. In other words: it works!

I headed back upstairs to nurse my cold from the proximity of my bed and he to his room to put together said lamp.

A few minutes later, I look up to this:

I would like to say that this is a single episode. That this is a one time aberration. But the truth is, the 9TS is a nut. Certifiable. And these things happen with acute regularity. But since I love when he dances the South Philly shuffle through the kitchen, talks like Groucho Marx, quotes Bela Lugosi, and squints like Popeye, I should be used to his antics. I am not. They still catch me unaware and I chortle. Life is good even if there is no sanctity.