I had a nightmare last night that I was living with all of my prom dates. It was a very nice place, full of sunshine and teenage boys (because of course while I might be 30-something, Skippy and the rest of the crew are still 16-18.)
The dream can be attributed to my little brother. He was teasing me the other day about my black towels. We've had them for a decade or more. And they smell mildewy. At least, they were stinky when Chris was here at christmas. Probably I had left them in the washing machine a bit too long as I am wont to do. Laundry is my personal battleground.
Anyway, Chris did not want me to give him my black towels when he moves to his new apartment this weekend. He was fairly adamant on the matter, even offering to buy me a new set for christmas or my birthday. All because he doesn't want to smell like D.A., my icky date for the senior prom. Those are not only his initials but a slur we used in high school for people with poor hygeine.
Since the very nice Thomas O'Brien towels I was admiring last week at Target are on sale this week, I think I'll buy some new ones. Just in the interest of future houseguests. :)
The event precipitating this need for towels on my bro's behalf is that he and his wife have separated after almost seven years of marriage. They have one child; my adorable nephew Alexander, known as Ai-a to my kids. I somewhat believed that if I were to push Chris and Nichole into a date night (maybe to see the Matthew McConaughey/Goldie Hawn's daugther movie about a couple on the verge of divorce who reconcile) then they could have their own Hollywood ending. Delusional, I know. Afterall, I am an adult, 'tho a romantic at heart.
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