Don’t Make Me Get My Flying Monkeys

Many, many weeks ago, I sent a deposit check to the college in Neighboring City. The deposit was for The Teenager to attend a skills camp sponsored by the college’s volleyball team next week. The check was cashed and we have been waiting for follow-up information ever since.

Today, The Teenager heard from a friend of hers' who is also planning to attend the camp; she received additional information and a bill for the camp a couple of weeks ago. The Teenager, as one would expect, freaked the fuck right out with the classic, Why does this always happen to meeee?! Do something!!! AAAAARRRGGG!

So, I called both numbers listed on the registration form and left messages. Then, for good measure, I sent emails to both email addresses listed on the form. I'm kind of irritated and, If I don’t have a call or email back by tomorrow; I am going to call in my flying monkeys.

Ok, not really, but, I may be forced to sic Hugh on them; he lives for righting the injustices heaped upon his daughter’s head.

He also lives for new experiences and, yesterday, he experienced his first tasering and, I don’t mean that in a figural sense, I mean; he actually got tasered. By a taser gun.

It happened during a certification  training that he was attending and, he did it voluntarily because, according to him; he wouldn’t want to do something to someone without knowing how it felt, himself. According to me, that is just ridiculous because, last time I checked, he was also certified in the use of firearms and, in case of dire emergency, might have to actually shoot someone with a bullet. By his reasoning, he should also want to know what that feels like, right? Right. So, yeah, ridiculous.

But, hella entertaining; I saw the video, so I know. Unfortunately, Hugh is a giant sour-puss who won’t let me show the video on this blog so; you’ll have to take me at my word for it when I say that he lit up like Benjamin Franklin in a thunderstorm before dropping like a lead balloon and twitching worse than an epileptic during a grand mal.

On purpose, remember.

So, yeah, my husband voluntarily submits to electrocution just because he can. Do you really think a college volleyball camp organizer has a chance against him? I don't think so.

 Here’s hoping I get a call tomorrow and it doesn’t have to come to that.