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Gather round, and listen to the story of The Friday Night I Visited Home and The Shennanigans that Pursued.

It was a regular Friday night, glorious by the virtue of the fact that it was Friday and all the shit of that week had been properly waded through and we had successfully popped out the other end, with the beginning of a joyous weekend to look forwards to. 

My family and I were sitting in the living room, engaging in a popular American past time traditionally referred to as "sitting around and eating while watching TV." It was then that fate raised its delicate hand and prodded my younger brother to move with it.

My brother is a ninth grader named Michael and is almost mostly all of what you'd expect from a ninth grade boy.

Michael, imbued with fate, rose from the couch and began to cross the room.

It was then that my mother, previously the perfect picture of calm with her cup of tea and relaxed in the rocking chair, suddenly grabbed Michael by the shoulders. Her eyes grew to the size of Olympic discuses, and her mouth became wider than that of a hula hoop specially designed for the world's fattest man. She exclaimed, "What is THAT?"

My brother, in response to this sudden confrontation, doubled up with immediate laughter. My father and I exchanged looks, as lost in the conversation as the Pope in an Alaskan recycling plant.

Michael remained doubled over as my mother reached over and peeled a sticker from my brother's lovely generic red shirt, and held it up with an expression of half-bemusement, half "how in the world did this thing I did birth think this would ever be an intelligent act" so that my dad and I could see what all the hulabaloo was about.

What she held was a transparent, rectangular clothing sticker that had "FULL LENGTH" printed on it in bold typeface. It had been, apparently, originally on my brother's pants and Michael, ever the opportunist, thought it an ingenious action to transfer the sticker from his pants to his shirt.

Oh, the hilarity! The implications! The innuendo!

I thought it was pretty funny. Mom had other opinions. Judging from the way dad rolled his eyes, I figured he might be in agreement.

The subject was dropped when Michael continued his quest to the kitchen in search of pie, and we resumed our American TV watching traditions.

But as commercial break rolled around, the subject resurfaced like a dead body carelessly tossed in a lake with all the future ramifications of equalizing density carelessly forgotten about.

My mom was back on it. "Don't tell me any girls noticed it!" Always a top concern with the mother.

"Eh," replies my brother with all the enthusiasm of a salted slug.

The conversation continues. My mom asks who saw it. My brother informs her a scholarly peer of his, Morgana, inquired as to what the sticker's purpose was. Alas, poor innocent Morgana, completely at the mercy of my brother and his perverted ninth grade intentions. My mother empathizes.

"NO!" She practically roars, again with the half bemusement, half horror. I felt a chill as the demons of hell that powered my mother's outraged cries flew forth from her vocal chords and passed by me. "I HOPE YOU DIDN'T TELL HER IT WAS ABOUT YOUR PENIS BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE DISGUSTING!"

Ah! My mother has done it, and mentioned the dreaded P-WORD. The subtlety shattered like stained glass in a church. My dad rolled his eyes.

"OH MICHAEL," continues my mother, "YOU ARE GOING TO BECOME WEIRD TO GIRLS!"

I can't help but notice the subtle implication that he is not yet weird to girls.

"I can't believe it Michael, oh my gosh." My mother goes through Stages of Michael. They are similar to Stages of Grief, but deal with the stages she passes through upon learning that my brother has done something wonderfully stupid. She is approaching the Acceptance stage, which ironically enough is marked with phrases of "I can't believe it Michael, I can't believe it."

"It's okay, she knows me!" replies Michael.

My mother, quite rightfully, responds, "Oh God. I don't know if that means good or bad."

"Fine mom." The battle is almost done. Michael is conceding ground. "I promise not to make anymore penis jokes in front of girls."

*For the record my mother would kill me if I made any association between her and demons from hell.