No Diving, Or Reading, Apparently

My grandmother leaves for home tomorrow, which means I can finally bust out the booze again, as I know my mother is a closet wine drinker but would fain have her mother know it. Or Jesus. Apparently Jesus can't see anything that happens north of the Mason Dixon, which actually works out really fucking great for me.

I called home from work to check up on the clan and see what they were up to - the shitty, cold weather has persisted and we're quickly running out of Disney movies (apparently nobody else thinks it's a good idea to broadcast Knocked Up with the kids around)((although, Angel Butt is going to have to learn about her "whoopsie-doo!" conception sooner or later)), but this afternoon my mom and 5 Head decided to brave the mild temps and misty skies and stake out a claim at the apartment pool.

They are the only people out there, my mom informed me in a surprisingly surprised tone of voice, so my brother can splash and hog the ladder and generally be bored and talk to himself. But at least he is outside.

While I was quizzing my mom about their day and our plans for the evening, she paused to converse with 5 Head, and then relayed the conversation to me: 5 Head was scolding her for wearing her reading glasses in the pool area, which, according to the clearly stated Pool Rules, is strictly prohibited.

She assured him that the glasses are, in fact, made of plastic. His righteous indignation was sated.

Apparently, he chose not to read the rule which states that guests must be accompanied by a resident of the apartment in the pool area. That rule must have been a the bottom of the list, and therefore, was optional.