And THIS Would Be Why It's Important To Complete Your Homework
I remember Big V laughing - one of those real, deep, rowdy laughs - when he told me about how his mother did his homework for him. I remember tilting my head to the side (which happens to be the international sign for do you seriously think this will impress me?) and squinting my eyes (mostly because I have this awful habit of squinting my eyes so it looks like I'm pissed off all. the. time., but also because my contacts were about 3 months past their daily wash & wear expiration date).
"I'm sorry, did you just say your mom did your homework?"
"Yeah, well it's not like I had a lot...."
Thus the introduction to the amazing childhood of the Big V began. He played sports! He was great at sports! He could catch a football! He could dribble a basketball! And he could probably do many more sports-like activity with amazing skill and accuracy but since I could care less about anything that involves people hurling objects at another human being I really didn't listen!
But I did listen to the parts that involved hiding cans of beer in the ceiling tile of the boys' bathroom to be shot gunned throughout the school day and the fact that his one and only responsibility growing up was to be the best damn sports player ever to grace the halls of some off the map high school that averaged an annual enrollment of 150 students for all four grades combined.
But he was the best. (Actually, I don't have any actual documentation to back this up, it's just what he told me.)
Now, let's fast forward what feels like a gazillion years and there's Big V - who treats work like football practice, always giving 110% every second that he's there, who is completely loyal to the team (even if his boss is jacking him around in the Providing Legal Benefits department) and who also comes home just like he did in high school: dropping his crap at the door and plopping down on the couch waiting to be waited on.
(And if you think I'm kidding, there is currently a pair of work pants crumpled up in the middle of an otherwise clean and orderly entry way. Who loses their pants three seconds after they come in the door?)
So, there sits Big V, filling out necessary paperwork that he thought-assumed-hoped I would have already completed for him. But he doesn't realize that I grew up with a much different approach to life called God gave you arms and legs for a reason, now get off your lazy ass and get this shit done. Ain't nobody gonna do it for you; you can sit and stare at it all you want, it ain't going away. Or something to that effect.
"Hey!" he called from the table, where he'd been sitting the past twenty minutes, staring at the paperwork wondering why it wasn't magically filled in.
"I'm not doing it for you!" I called back from my comfy chair.
"I'm not asking you to!"
"Good! Because I won't!"
"Fine. I just have a question."
"What?"
"It says, 'have you ever been bonded?' What should I put?"
"Well, have you ever been bonded?"
"No."
"Then I'd go with that."
***
A few minutes later:
"Hey!"
"I'm not doing it for you!"
"I'm not asking you to!"
"Good! Because I won't!"
"Fine. I just have a question."
"What?"
"It says, 'have you ever plead guilty to a crime?' What should I put?"
"Seriously?! You don't know if you've ever plead guilty to a crime?! Well, at least I don't have to worry about you doing Cletus's homework for him just so he can be eligible to play football."
It's a damn good thing he's good looking.
"I'm sorry, did you just say your mom did your homework?"
"Yeah, well it's not like I had a lot...."
Thus the introduction to the amazing childhood of the Big V began. He played sports! He was great at sports! He could catch a football! He could dribble a basketball! And he could probably do many more sports-like activity with amazing skill and accuracy but since I could care less about anything that involves people hurling objects at another human being I really didn't listen!
But I did listen to the parts that involved hiding cans of beer in the ceiling tile of the boys' bathroom to be shot gunned throughout the school day and the fact that his one and only responsibility growing up was to be the best damn sports player ever to grace the halls of some off the map high school that averaged an annual enrollment of 150 students for all four grades combined.
But he was the best. (Actually, I don't have any actual documentation to back this up, it's just what he told me.)
Now, let's fast forward what feels like a gazillion years and there's Big V - who treats work like football practice, always giving 110% every second that he's there, who is completely loyal to the team (even if his boss is jacking him around in the Providing Legal Benefits department) and who also comes home just like he did in high school: dropping his crap at the door and plopping down on the couch waiting to be waited on.
(And if you think I'm kidding, there is currently a pair of work pants crumpled up in the middle of an otherwise clean and orderly entry way. Who loses their pants three seconds after they come in the door?)
So, there sits Big V, filling out necessary paperwork that he thought-assumed-hoped I would have already completed for him. But he doesn't realize that I grew up with a much different approach to life called God gave you arms and legs for a reason, now get off your lazy ass and get this shit done. Ain't nobody gonna do it for you; you can sit and stare at it all you want, it ain't going away. Or something to that effect.
"Hey!" he called from the table, where he'd been sitting the past twenty minutes, staring at the paperwork wondering why it wasn't magically filled in.
"I'm not doing it for you!" I called back from my comfy chair.
"I'm not asking you to!"
"Good! Because I won't!"
"Fine. I just have a question."
"What?"
"It says, 'have you ever been bonded?' What should I put?"
"Well, have you ever been bonded?"
"No."
"Then I'd go with that."
***
A few minutes later:
"Hey!"
"I'm not doing it for you!"
"I'm not asking you to!"
"Good! Because I won't!"
"Fine. I just have a question."
"What?"
"It says, 'have you ever plead guilty to a crime?' What should I put?"
"Seriously?! You don't know if you've ever plead guilty to a crime?! Well, at least I don't have to worry about you doing Cletus's homework for him just so he can be eligible to play football."
It's a damn good thing he's good looking.
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