It’s great to be a boy. I’m not a boy, but I live with some, and I’m here to tell you, it is all it’s cracked up to be.
For instance, if you are a boy, and your aunt has a birthday, what do you get her?
A plastic snake wrapped up in a box.
I didn’t know that boys liked to talk on the phone. I didn’t know they even knew how to use the phone. I found out that El Guille knows how to use the phone when I woke up to the phone being jammed into my face the other day. “Nana wants to talk to you!” El Guille said happily. Wait, he answered the phone? He answers phones now? How many people has he been talking to?
“Err, Hello?” I said.
“What are you doing?” My mom said.
“Uhm, I’m in the bathroom,” I don’t know why, but somehow, I think I will be in trouble with my mom if she catches me in bed, still sleeping, past 7:30 in the morning. Chalk it up to knee-jerk teenage reaction.
For the record: I am a full grown adult with children of my own and I am still scared of my mother.
“Oh, that’s not what El Guille said,” La Professora said coolly, “He said you’re asleep.”
“Well, ahem, I’m not.”
If any of you think it would be funny to start calling my house to have a conversation with El Guille without my knowledge, it won’t be funny, not at all.
The other thing you should know is that boys are endlessly physical. The running, jumping, yelling, flying leaps off the top of the piano (“Mama, that hurt!”) it just never stops. Well, it sometimes stops, like when a boy runs full force into the corner of a wall and leaving a straight line indentation down his forehead; a curiously split goose-egg. I used to think, “They’re bouncing off the walls!” was just a cute expression until you watch the boys literally bounce off the walls, like little electrons. Sometimes I wonder if we have a particle accelerator in our house.If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and there really is another thing…
Happy walking, Baby Proximo.