The Tree House of Horror
I remember vividly trying to find places to make out when I was a teenager. It wasn’t that I was some gigantic slut—no, really—it’s just that there are only so many places that one can successfully get their legs properly humped far away from the prying eyes of parents and/or siblings. Bedrooms were preferred, because they contained, well, BEDS, but they were often strictly guarded by parents who knew exactly what two horny kids would do when allowed to be alone for more than five seconds. And it wasn’t Parcheesi.
Cars were okay, but the police in my hometown (where I still live) seldom have anything better to do than bust underage smokers or underage humpers, so screwing around in a car, while optimal in some regards because it’s mobile, isn’t exactly always a great idea. The Great Outdoors comes with bugs, lurking Uncle Pervies, hikers and picnickers and my personal favorite: Poison Ivy. No one wants Poison Ivy on their privates. Not, thankfully, that I would actually know from experience. So while I do appreciate the plight of the horny teen, I do know that there are plenty of places that can be made hump-worthy. I know I’ve gotten my leg humped in many, many places over the years.
While I do still live in my hometown, thank the Sweet Baby Jesus that I no longer live with my parents because that would be awkward mostly because I would have murdered them by now. The area that I do live is across the river and we happened to move into Teenager Row. Most people hate teenagers, but I happen to find them hilarious. Plus, they mow my lawn and do assorted chores around the house for me since I have about four thousand children and a husband who is around approximately three minutes every other week. To me, it’s a total win, and for that I can even put up with their annoying whiny emo music for the privilege of being able to work them to the bone. Cheap slave labor makes me very, very happy.
One of them in particular tends to mow my lawn on a semi-regular basis when he can be bothered to remember. He’s a teenager so I don’t hold him to any sort of high standards. One afternoon, I blearily noticed that he’d left his baseball cap on top of the treehouse in my children’s play-set. It’s a pretty sweet set-up they have and I’ll be the first to admit that I am totally making up for the fact that my own parents didn’t buy me cool shit buy buying my own kids what I deem to be the coolest shit ever. Their play-set is pimp. It’s beyond pimp, actually, and I’m halfway considering moving out there myself. Well, I would, except that my own house is cooler. Air conditioning trumps no air conditioning any day.
Anyway, the hat sits there and it annoys me because I’m a little OCD and it doesn’t fucking belong there, but my neighborhood kid doesn’t seem to notice that he’s missing his hat. I am simply stunned that he doesn’t notice that he’s missing his hat! Why, when I was that age, I would have noticed that I was missing my baseball cap! Okay, that’s a lie, because I’ve owned one baseball cap ever and it says “Mrs. Timberlake” on it and I bought it when I was twenty-four because OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t you? But weeks pass and the hat sits in the treehouse and every time I see it it’s like it’s TAUNTING me by simply being there because it doesn’t motherfucking belong there! The kid comes back a couple of times and mows my lawn and still, leaves the hat, and I am beyond mystified by this.
Finally, I catch him outside one day when all of the adults are standing around splitting some beers and noshing on encased meats.
“Kid,” I say to him, my excitement reaching a fever pitch. “I have your hat!” I probably got a little in his face because that’s how I get when I’m excited by something and trust me, Internet, I was beyond excited. Before he could say “restraining order,” I ran inside and retrieved the hat. Triumphantly, I brought it back outside where I handed it to him with a huge smile on my face. I was just THAT HAPPY to give the hat back to it’s rightful owner. I was sure that the hat was equally happy to be back home once again because I might have been a wee bit drunk at the time.
“Um,” he looked at the hat and back at me. “That’s actually not my hat.”
My mouth hit the ground. What the fuck? I have a fenced in back yard, three small children and two loud dogs. Really, my yard isn’t a free-for-all of movement and no one really gets in or gets out without me noticing. Sort of like the Hotel California. What the hell did he mean, “that’s not my hat?”
My OCD kicked into hyperdrive at this revelation because if it wasn’t his hat and it wasn’t my hat and it wasn’t Dave’s, Ben’s, Alex’s or Amelia’s, then who the fuck owned the hat? Squirrels? The fucking Invisible Man? Gnomes? I couldn’t figure it out and it ate at my brain for weeks. Trust me, I don’t have enough brain for it to be taken over with such a thing for so long. I’m pretty sure nothing else got done for those weeks.
Facebook finally cracked it for me. The neighbors behind me frequently held bonfires attended by scads of teenagers. Those teenagers were using my fucking treehouse as, well a fucking treehouse. Which, I mean, if you think about it, is kinda awesome for them, kinda gross for me, because my kids go in there all the damn time. Without knowing it, I’d been hosting an orgy of teenagers in my backyard, probably humping legs with wild abandon. My very own den of intrigue! The hat must have replaced the tie as a symbol for “do NOT come in here.” If I took a black light in there, I’d be willing to bet it would look like Fight Club, only replace the blood and hair with spooge. Thankfully, I’d thrown out the black light along with the beaded curtains years before, so I won’t torture myself, but let’s just say I hit it up with some Lysol after that, and immediately threw out the hat.
More than anything, I was happy to have solved the mystery and a little jealous that I’d never been so creative when I was a teenager. Kids these days, man. They’re so fucking smart. Too bad that Imma booby trap the damn thing at night now. They may be smart, but I have a AMEX black card.
Score one for Aunt Becky.
You know what else is crazy, that it is equally as hard to find a place to hump ones leg with small children as it is when you live with your parents. I really need a lock on my door.
Oooh, please tell us about the booby traps. Pretty pretty please.
I can attest to the fact that making it in the great outdoors is not the coolest. But I do have to admit, losing my virginity at Cherry Hill Park still makes me laugh.
Lights on motion detectors? Or alarms? The hidden traps sound so fun – until Rocky Raccoon sets them off!
omg bex, you kill me!!! having a teenager, i can totally relate!
Bwahaha! Love it! I wish I’d been that creaitve.
Bucket list addition: Hump AB’s leg in her treehouse.
I loved your fixation on the hat! I’d like to believe that I’d do that.
Love your new look!! I never, ever want my girls to be teenagers. i know too much…cough.
Back in the day we built our own tree house. 3 levels, room to sleep 6. And yes, horny teen age activities happened there. Unfortunately, we weren’t smart enough to use hats as a signal. Sometimes you saw a little more than you bargained for.. But, it WAS the 70’s back then. Oh, I miss those days.
yes yes yes!! 🙂 🙂 This is hilarious! You HAVE to tell us about the booby traps. I like the motion sensor idea, but it has to be hooked up to speakers that will immediately begin blaring “The Bad Touch.” 😉 Or “Jesus Loves Me.”
I vote for Jesus loves Me. Way more embarassing.
Moving the hat isn’t going to discourage these horny devils! Your treehouse won’t be safe until you wallpaper it with glow-in-the-dark childbirth photos and close-up shots of genital warts.
ewww
It’s too bad I didn’t know anyone with a treehouse when I was a teenager. That is a genius idea right there. Which for some teenagers is surprising they would have thought of it. But you could probably chalk it up to their hormones doing the thinking for them.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Oh and EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. I believe the look on my face is actually one of extreme mental pain right now because I have a tree house/fort in the back yard… and teenagers of my own.
Someone hold me… but don’t hump my leg. I’m saving that for someone special.
We had a treehouse when I was a kid, and now I am starting to consider it’s history with suspicion! Maybe my parents used it, because they never had a lock on their bedroom door either.
Wow, that IS creative! I’m almost afraid to think where their next “secret” fun-time spot will be.
This made me both laugh out loud and cringe in the same time. Luckily I’m not in public because it probably looked painfully awkward. Please let us know about the booby traps.
Heh, booby….
You’re not going to be trapping any actual boobies, are you?
killer post, kid. video, please. night video.
lmfao.
i’m about to move to a house, and when i get that house, i hope to hell there are trees in the yard. i fully intend to build MYSELF a treehouse, mostly because i’m about to be living with my brother, and occasionally, me and my Matt are gonna need a place to go and y’know… be private and shit. yeah.
mostly, i just want a treehouse. i’ll admit to it.
so many ppl want to know about the booby traps that I’m beginning to suspect they’re planning on using your tree house themselves. you never outgrow your need for a creative place in which to hump leg.
Best post ever. My office is made entirely of glass (I’m on display like a creature in a zoo) and the folks on either side of me are worried that I’m having a stroke. I guess when you try really hard to hold in a good GUFFAW you turn a little red. Thank you, AB … you made my day once again.
this is why i love you – you have no problems working words like humping and spooge into any sentence. It’s like a gift. A gift that makes me laugh my ass off!
Wow. I thought the back of a camper was exotic. I think I’d prefer the treehouse. I’ll have to warn my daughter though. She and her fiance are trying to buy a house that has its own treehouse out back. My grandson is only 3 but the next decade or so will fly by! At least there’s a fence between them and the neighbors : )
I’m two parts grossed out, one part entertained, and one part geeked by this post. We used to hit up the houses in the neighborhood that were being built. Sawdust isn’t quite as bad as poison ivy…but almost.
I can totally sympathize with the teenage dilemma, but I had it even worse. I went to a boarding school, where privacy was impossible to find. Teenagers are so creative though, and mother nature always finds a way…. Cemeteries for the 2 nights a week we were allowed off campus ( with a strict curfew), phone booths, and…. Yes, I lost my innocence in the chapel. I would have given anything for a handy treehouse like yours!
On a side note, most teenage pregnancies occur between the hours when school lets out and the parents return from work. Planning to enroll my kids in band.
Damn…I was really hoping for garden gnomes as being responsible…then I thought it’d be cool if your kids had taken some random hat and just put it there because they knew it would grit at you. Not that I’d laugh at that or anything…but it did come to mind, briefly.
WM
I feel like strangers humping in a kids treehouse could only happen to you. I recommend leaving a bowl of condoms up there perhaps with a sign that says “practice safe sex or build one of these for YOUR children.”
I get the CSI gross factor, I do. Still, I’m hella impressed with the ingenuity. Also, how big is that treehouse?
Ha ha! Maybe they are just environmentalists — darn tree humpers! I hear teenagers these days really *love* nature. Funny post! Thanks for sharing your detective work.
SPOOGE! too f ing funny…
So when your kids are teenagers, you’ll be hacking that treehouse to pieces? I can also attest to the fact that teenagers getting busy in cars outside in the summer can cause many, many mosquito bites. Vacant fields after a summer rain = no good for leg humping.