I have officially been banned from ever saying anything to my littlest dude about his life choices once he has grown up and moved out and gotten a place of his own which will contain an endless supply of video games and NO RULES.
Indeed, I have been informed that said dude will hire a guard to keep me from keeping him from playing ANY OLD GAME HE WANTS. Even ones where he, as the game operator, must kill people with bows and arrows and watch them slowly die in front of him. BECAUSE I AM A MEAN MOM TO NOT LET HIM DO THAT NOW.
Furthermore, when he has grown up, moved out, is on his own and has his guard installed such that I cannot prevent him from wasting his brain-cells in front of a Playstation for as long as he wants every day, he shall eat nothing but corn dogs, AND THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT.
And, on the off chance that I suggest that his wife probably won't appreciate being married to a corn dog-swilling video-game-hypnotized couch potato, I should know that HE'S NEVER GETTING MARRIED.
Bless his fuzzy little heart.
It won't surprise you to know that my telling him that even though he can't see it now someday he will understand and thank me, did absolutely nothing in terms of getting him to back down on hiring the Mom-inator as his future bodyguard.
Me neither. I knew it as I said it. Heard the words fall bleakly from my mouth and dissolve before they ever got into his prefrontal cortex. So I looked at him for a moment, then told him he could earn a Harry Potter video game instead.
Because death-eating, child-killing, unicorn-blood-drinking, homicidal megalomaniacs without noses are much healthier for him to play with.
Thank heaven someone in my family has her priorities straight.