HYGIENE: PART TWO

So, as you've probably gathered, I've started to become quite disturbed about my son's (lol) "cleanliness."  

Let's take the other night.  We were in the middle of a bonding moment.  We have Netflixed "Gladiator," and the scene is the Roman Coliseum where there appear to be ravenous tigers who want to jump on Russell Crowe.  Well yes.  So do I.  But in a horny, naughty way, not in a way that will cause him to bleed to death. So to avoid seeing my sweet, sweet Russell mauled beyond recognition, I turn my head to the left where my son is sitting (probably yearning for the bloodbath). 

Even in the low light, I detect a conspicuous globule of wax nestled in the kid's right ear. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" I demand, as I (because I can't help it,) start to stick my index finger directly into his ear. He karate chops my arm away.  "What the hell!," he says.  Ooh.  Hell.  I've forgotten that he's not three anymore.  That I'm not allowed to stick my fingers into any of his orifices without permission.  

"Honey, really." I say, rubbing my poor arm.  "When was the last time you cleaned out your ears?"  And of course he tells me that he "showers every night."

Well I don't care that he showers every night.  That's just bullshit.  I don't know how, but he comes out of this 'alleged' shower each time with wet hair that smells like rainforest mushrooms.  He comes out with dirt rings under his "cocaine dealer" fingernails and Sharpie on his arms.  He emerges having been in there under streaming hot water for no less than twenty-eight minutes and the BOTTOMS of his feet are still dirty.  You know. The bottoms.  The part that's actually been submerged  for the entire SEVENTY GALLONS of water.  Still dirty.  Still.

I open my mouth to explain to him that it must have taken weeks for that kind of wax to build up in his ear and that if he doesn't start seriously cleaning himself, I'm going to take a washrag to him here and now and… 

…probably ruin the bonding moment. 

I glance over to the television.  Russell is triumphant.  He has managed to slaughter along with two enormous angry tigers, a small army of Roman foot soldiers.  

And he's still cleaner than my son.