Tuesday, February 16, 2010
During dinner, Bob asked to be excused from the table and ran to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him. Jeff and I continued our conversation and then stopped when we noticed strange noises coming from the restroom. Bob was moaning and wheezing.
As his mother, I believe my first thought should have been, “Is my son hurt?” Followed quickly by, “Does he need help?"
Instead, my first (run-on) thought was, “Jesus. He’s already the kid with his hand down his pants all the time, now he’s going to be the moaning guy in the bathroom stall? He’s Grunting Guy? How old do you have to be to lose that nickname? Isn’t that something that goes on your permanent record?” My glorious exercise in not staying in the moment was interrupted.
“Buddy, are you OK in there?” said Jeff.
“I am trying to breathe out fire!”
“I’m a dragon. I’m practicing for dragon school.”
Fine. We still need to work on the hand down the pants thing.
Labels: number two