NERF WARS AND IMMATURITY

My family is incredibly immature.  Thank goodness for that.

When the new washer and dryer are installed, I need to do some rearranging in  the basement to make the area perfect.  This means that a lot of the toys and games that are housed on shelves in the stairwell have to move temporarily to the den.  This starts another purge of stuff.

Naturally, my grown kids do what all kids of any age do when they see stuff that has been out of sight and out of mind: they play with everything.  Before I have a chance to figure out what they are doing, my son loads up a Nerf gun and starts firing at my daughter and me as we sit in the kitchen, cleaning up from his early-birthday celebration.

What he doesn't know is that I have within arm's length the Nerf gun (fully loaded with extra missiles beside it) that my brother's family just gave me for my birthday (because fun-based immaturity is a family trait).  I grab the Nerf gun, prime it, and turn quickly, firing the whole way until the gun is empty and I have to reload.  Meanwhile, my son is hitting us with giant Nerf bullets, and I can tell you, they sting a little bit at this close range.

I hand my Nerf gun off to my daughter, who expertly makes her way into the den.  She is hiding in the stairwell leading upstairs, and her brother is about ten feet away in the basement stairwell.  Both are decent marksmen, my daughter being well-trained in the real deal, and they proceed to have an OK Corral style shootout (though it lasts a few minutes longer than the infamous original).

When it's over, the only busted guts are from laughing, and it's just like the old days when they were little.  Yup, we are ridiculously and forever immature.  Indeed, thank goodness for that.