Basement

On Monday, I came across two very young women in our company’s break room.  Like 22 years old.  After some small talk that only emphasized our age difference, they asked me if I had watched the Bears game on Sunday.

“Oh yeah.  My wife was out of town.  So I got to sit the whole day in front of the TV and drink beer.  It was glorious.”

“Wait.  You drank beer the whole day?  Don’t you have young sons?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make them watch football. I stuck them in the basement.”

The women’s eyes widened.  “You forced your kids to sit in your damp, dark basement?”

“It wasn’t that damp.  Besides, I let them watch as many cartoons as they wanted.”

By this point, the grave I was digging was only a couple feet deep.  They said, “Wait.  You stuck your sons in the basement all day watching cartoons with no food or water?”

I felt a single bead of sweat drip down my back.  I considered lying, but I figured what was the point now?  I continued, “Well.  No.  I would occasionally send them down a plate of pizza snacks.  And my neighbor brought over a pie.  They ate that.  And there was this 3 pound bag of tortilla chips.”

“How old are your sons?”

“Six.  And Three.”

“You allowed your three year old son to sit in your basement, unsupervised, while you drank beer and watched football all day?”

I began to back out of the room.  “No.  Not unsupervised.  He had his…um…six year old brother to watch him.  And there was the bag of chips.”

The women seemed to be taking mental pictures of what never, ever to get married to.

I decided right then and there to change my life.  I would never again speak with 22 year olds again.