From the Mouth of Babes

The other night, I was bored. To alleviate said boredom, I gathered up the brood and headed to Target under the guise of getting some toilet paper or something peripherally important. Really, all I wanted to do was escape the confines of Casa del Jenks and look at movies and video games and such. You know, important stuff.

So, we're in Target and we've moseyed through the toy section because the brood, for some reason, likes the toys. Once they had each picked something out, we moved over to the multimedia section, which offers a fairly sad selection of items, but their prices are moderately nice. Plus, sometimes, Cookie decides she'd like to get a book instead of a toy, and I get it because it offers the illusion to the rest of the world of me being a good father. Score on two fronts: the kid likes me, and the rest of the world respects me. The latter was about to be undone.

While in the section, however, I have what, in polite circles, can be described as a gastroenteral decompression. Unfortunately, my four-year-old son, Tank, heard this and did the polite thing: he excused me. Loudly. And repeatedly. Now, my wee lad has a rather capable set of lungs and, well, he's also quite capable of doing a stageworthy projection with his voice. So, when he bellowed "Excuse you, daddy", it wasn't just to me, it was to the entire store.

"Shhhhhh!" I tried--in vain--to silence him.

"But you pootered, Daddy! Excuse you!"

Embarrassed, I slunk past a handful of people and tried to disappear into automotive. Therein, I tried to describe to my young gentleman that it was proper to excuse one who has had an accidental recto-centric explosion. However, it was not customary for one to perform said pardoning at the top of someone's voice.

Satisfied, we continued through the store where I gathered the supplies I needed for dinner the following night and, doing my best impersonation of a paparazzi-ducking celebrity, I crawled up to the line to check out. Unfortunately, I chose the line poorly and the young lady who scanned my merchandise kept looking at me with a mirthful smile upon her face and unshed tears of unbridled joy and laughter standing in her eyes.

Taking my stuff, I hurried toward the door as quickly as possible, vowing to never enter that Target ever again. Put one more on the list of places from which my ass has banished the rest of my body.