This past weekend, I had a gentleman caller from out of town who came to visit. I know the Horsemen and how utterly charming and hospitable they can be and therefore slept at least two hours the night before he was due to arrive.
I did go over the manners review just very briefly before he came to the house. Ok, maybe more than briefly, but no more than 12 times. In an hour. Anyway, he arrived and we started making breakfast together for the boys.
The three younger ones asked if he could come into the living room and talk with them a little. I was a bit apprehensive, but he seemed willing to undergo the Inquisition and so I made the meal without his help.
Luckily, I made biscuits which gave me the opportunity to eavesdrop at the door while the boys entertained my guest. One by one, they each offered to shake his hand, asked if he had any hobbies (#4 grew agitated when his brothers also asked this, he claimed it was his question and no one else should be allowed to ask ) and the man thought of something interesting to say each time he was questioned on all of the ways he might spend a free moment. Funnily enough, he never mentioned enjoying having bright lights shined into his eyes while being asked to confess...
After he went back home on Sunday, the Horsemen were eager to give their assessment. They had, they said, hated him until they discovered that he liked the LOTR movies, had played D&D as a child, and loved cats more than dogs. Being a sweet-natured sort, I have decided to forgive him for all of these things.
Today, I mentioned that he'd brought his kilt along and had worn it when we went out to a really nice restaurant on Friday night. I expected that since at least two of the boys have decided to become Celt-ophiles, this would please them inmmensely. No such luck, though.
#2 gasped and said,"OMG. He wears a kilt? A real kilt?" in the tone of voice one would use to determine that someone brushed his teeth with lard. "He can't wear a kilt in our house!".
I have to admit, this shocked me. My boys have seen nearly everything at least once, and with #2's newfound obsession with everything pagan, Celtic and Scottish except bagpipes, I thought he'd be interested. I asked why the horror over a simple thing such as a kilt. After all, we have other friends who wear them.
#2 stared as if I'd gotten a second helping of brain injury and said,"Simple. The furniture."
I said I had no idea how the two things might be related.
Barely controlling his scorn (because he hasn't gotten his next month's allowance yet) he said,"He can't wear a kilt and sit on our furniture. You know? Because men who wear kilts don't wear any...any things under them. So, no sitting on our furniture unless we put a towel down first."
Before I could even reply to that, #4 clinched the argument by saying,"Not just the furniture! He just...well, he should just never try to wear a kilt in our house. After all, what about Dixie?"
#4 does have a point, and it's nearly as obvious as that long point on the end of Dixie's lovely collie snout. If this man ever comes calling again (though Lord knows why he would) we'll have to have the kilt talk. I'll be sure to tell him Dixie said 'hi'.
When Poe ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
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