Boys' World

My sons don't look like this

For 24 years, I've been surrounded by boys, boys, boys.  It's been "Beavis and Butthead," "World Wrestling," "Family Guy."  It's been bathroom humor, not Barbie dolls.  No jewelry-making, no tea parties, no, "Can I borrow your mascara?"  The things that gross me out make them roar and stomp the floor. My pleas of "please don't fart in the kitchen" continue to fall on deaf ears.  My sons are equal opportunity offenders.  Certain behaviors persist into young adulthood.  Basically, I've given up.  Rather than bang my head against the wall, I've adapted by lowering my standards.  I'm not proud of this, but to survive in a world of boys, you do what you gotta do.  Whenever I stoop to their level, hubby shakes his head, wondering what has happened to his dainty little spouse.  This is when he says, "My wife, Blechniven."  Our favorite line of all time, co-opted from a long-lost comedy bit.  I've Googled, "My wife, Blechniven," and keep coming up blank.  I think it's an old Billy Crystal routine.  "My wife, Blechniven" means many things.  Charm School Dropout is one.  "Oy gevalt, remind me why I married her?!" is another. Before my sons, I had class.  Since motherhood, I've gone downhill.  I've gone Blechniven.  The things I'll do to get a laugh.