I’m pretty sure that there is an unwritten life rule out there that says that no matter what, on Mother’s Day, little children everywhere have to act like they were raised by wolves and therefore do not have to celebrate or even recognize the date’s existence, and they can instead proceed to snarl at each other over meat, and space, and air, and stuff. Or.
Personal hygiene is a constant point of contention in this Dude house. They are either completely filthy, about to do something that will leave them filthy, or only just recently cleaned up from spending a good portion of their day being filthy. And, as they age, they add to their filth a distinctive funk that makes me wonder if they are fully human or possibly,