Disturbing Fact: Average age for boys to move out is 25

My friend sent me that disturbing fact and it frightens me.  Sadly some of you (besides my stalker Cindi – remember every great blogger has a stalker), might not know that I have a son who is age 18 and lives at home.  That means I have 6 more years of crap to go through.

That’s not really a big deal to have a kid still at home.  A lot of our neighbors have “boomerang kids” at their homes.  I have a problem because he is unemployed.  Cut him some slack, right?  Well, in this economy that isn’t really a big deal to be unemployed, the real problem lies in the fact he isn’t really looking for a job.

Now, we aren’t going to get into an econ 201 lesson about him being part of the “discouraged workers” who aren’t really counted in the unemployment rate becuase they aren’t actively looking for employment.  Hence, if they were counted the unemployment would be higher than the 9.1% rate Washington state currently has.

He has plenty of time to hang out with this girlfriend, go to the Folklife Festival, skateboard all day, hang out with friends (who have actual jobs),sleep in, eat all the good snacks (and leave the dishes for me to do), and leave the most disgusting, stinky ass bedroom in the world.  His room is worst than a lot of the foreclosure houses I’ve been in. All the time in the world to do nothing!

We have asked him so many times to clean it up and yet it is still there.

How bad can it be?  If he leaves his bedroom door open, the whole house will reek.  It smells like the garbage dump we went to today.  At the dump, I mentioned how bad it smelled and he said he didn’t smell anything.  Of course, he couldn’t smell anything bad because his room is ten times worse and he has burned all sense of smell right out of his nose.  I could have a garbage truckdriver come in his room and it would make the garbage man cry.

I haven’t a clue on how he has any clean clothes because he doesn’t do any laundry.  I know he showers (thank god!) and we’ll skip talking about the bathroom on this post because I don’t want Cindi to puke up her midnight snack.

What to do…what to do.

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