That would be me. The Boy Scout is off camping for a week, and here I am. Moping around. Looking for him. He wasn’t in his bed this morning. Or yesterday morning, for that matter.
He wasn’t at the PlayStation for a ga-zillion hours today. His juice glass and cereal bowl were not left dirty in the sink. No DSU’s on the floor in the bathroom. No play by play about today’s episode of The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. I don’t know what happened on today’s show!?! He didn’t ask me about my day. He does that, you know.
The dog misses him, too. He paces a bit when the rest of us come home without the Boy Scout. He checks in his room, too. He looks at me and asks with his eyes, “Where the hell did you put him?”
So I bought a crock pot.
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Proof that scouting leads to crock…