Let’s face it.  I may as well be under house arrest considering the way I have to live.  I have two wardens watching me at all times now that Luke lives here too.  I would never in a thousand years have guessed I’d have two full grown men living with me at this point in my life.

Nicky’s going to be 24 in August, and has never lived elsewhere, and Luke will be 27 in September, and fooled me with his brief exodus to Alberta, and then the recent marriage.  I kind of thought he was out for good once he’d bought into the house in Sylvan Lake with Dan, but no.

So here we are.  One small woman and two huge men who can’t do anything other than work on installing some turbo charger into the old ’92 Civic.  For breaks, they hop onto their dirt bikes and roar off into the hills.  I’m tellin’ ya, I’m getting very, very close to the end of my patience with this gig.

They can’t turn off the lights or keep the driveway gate closed so the puppy will be safe.  All of their many Purolator deliveries for computer and car parts have engendered huge piles of empty boxes, and finally after days of haranguing, Luke deigned to take his own garbage away from the yard for me.  He was pretty shocked at the suggestion, but he did it.

Selling the house has crossed my mind, as a one-bedroom condo would solve an awful lot of my problems.  But then I think of my garden, the dog and cats and think no, surely there’s got to be a way to get these two needy adult children away from me.

Nicky’s refused dinners for about four months now, which has been great.  He prefers a nice couple of bags of McDonald’s or some sushi instead.  But Luke likes my cooking, so yesterday I decided one thing I simply have got to stop doing is cooking.  So I didn’t make any dinner, and just acted casual.

Luke came upstairs at 7:00 and said he hadn’t realized what time it was (being immersed in computer games and all) and said something about dinner.  I said nonchalantly, “I didn’t make any.”  He went “oh” and I heard him make himself a sandwich.  Whether this will work or not, I don’t know.

My last strategy came to me when I heard the cats chasing off the interloper the other night with their caterwauling.  I thought maybe if I bring strange testosterone into this place, it might drive these two males out.  It’s really a measure I hate to take as it’s so drastic, but if I can switch out two unhelpful, dirty males for one helpful, clean one, I may have to try that.

But in the meantime I’ve cheered myself up with the discovery of ripe figs, which I’ve never eaten in my life.  I bought them when the German kids were here, and now I’m into my second box, and love them.  “And if you don’t care a feather or a fig, you may grow up to be a pig.” Remember that song?