It’s my belief that it should not be a big deal if you have eggs in the house. Somehow, in my world, it does become a big deal.

We don’t have A/C at witchypoo HQ. This is a significant issue for the hot flash queen. We do have many fans, but oh, me nerves! I hate the heat.

Ass Burger Boy, on the other hand, is oblivious to heat. So much so that he routinely wears a leather jacket outside in the summer.

And?

He loves to bake cookies. In the summer. Using the oven. Sometimes, he forgets to turn the oven off afterwards.

One summer, I came home from gigging a festival in the Magdalene Islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. You could see your breath at night in the entertainment tent. I had to buy a special fleece-type jacket there, so as not to freeze.

Imagine my surprise to find that meanwhile, back at home, we were enjoying record high temperatures. It was 107F outside.

Inside? It was considerably hotter.

Seems my pride and joy had whupped up a batch of cookies in my absence.

And forgot to turn the oven off.

I dropped off my luggage, called for an air-conditioned cab, and made my way to an air-conditioned bar for the evening.

But first I broke and threw out all the eggs in the house.

Haven’t bought eggs since.

Summer is my peak work time. I travel from venue to venue throughout my region, putting in long hours at psychic fairs, and not knowing what kind of internet access I will have. Oh, the pain.

I’m off on my travels next week, so there is lots of packing and prep to be done for the tour. Besides business cards and other supplies, I have to load the laptop with the correct software and create a new database for my clients and their sound files.

Luckily, Ass Burger Boy will be holding down the home front fort. It didn’t always used to be that way. I used to have to take him with me.

I remember the summer he was 14. I remember it well. The first venue of the summer was in Skinny Bitch’s city. He stayed in the hotel room and ordered room service, and lolled around the pool while I sweated to make expenses. Try feeding a teenage boy on room service, and you don’t have a large profit margin.

That wasn’t what chapped my chops. It just underlined his travelling demise.

I was struggling to get my gear from the car to the venue, which was up a steep flight of stairs. In the heat.

My boy? Threw a complete hissy fit. In the lobby of the hotel. Seems he was too heavy for light work, and too light for heavy work.

Mama was not amused.

The next venue was my own city, and I parked that chile with a vengeance. I left the neighbours with my itinerary, and strict instructions to His Majesty, and never took him with me again to work.

He doesn’t cross me often, but when he does? Doozy.

Overheard, years ago in hallway. Two young boys playing.

“Lets play Batman.”

“Okay.”

“You can be Batman.”

“Cool!”

“F*ck you, Batman!”

I snuck away before they discovered I overheard them.

And? At least they weren’t fighting.

When Ass Burger Boy was in grade five, he had grandiose career dreams. He didn’t want to let that pesky schooling interfere with them, either. No, sir! He started out part time. Because I insisted he still had to go to school and all. He really did not care for his teacher that year. I met her. The kid was no fool.

Inspired by television shows and his favourite movie, Ghostbusters, he decided that he would be a private investigator.

A friend printed up his cards for him. Oh, yes, he had business cards. Like this:

Detective Ass Burger Boy
Private investigator
No job too big or small

And that right there is enough to render any mother into a puddle of melty heart-flutter goo.

ABB is, and always was, resourceful. He distributed his business cards around the neighbourhood, and to business establishments. He’s quite the salesman. Loves to talk. And when he has a mission? Look out.

A few days later, he came home exploding with glee. He had a case! And he announced it to me with shining eyes, eyes telegraphing all the hope he had for his dream career finally coming to fruition. And all this after a mere three days of preparation since the decision! His life was mapped out for him!

His task was to locate a missing dog. I tried to get him to secure a deposit because I happened to know of the neighbour who hired him. Not a pay your bills kind of guy, if you get my drift.

ABB found the dog, and didn’t get paid. The neighbour stiffed him.

And sadly, that marked the demise of his career as a private investigator. He just didn’t want to have to handle the business details.

But for a while there, I could say I was the mom of a crackerjack private investigator.

Sorry I’m not churning out anything this weekend. The purple plates site has me in brain freeze mode, and once I open Dreamweaver, my life is over for a while.

Blast this one-track mind.

For you puzzlers, here is the picture of Ass Burger Boy I posted earlier.

It’s a toughie, even on easy mode.

Create your own puzzles at PuzzleBee.com!