My son’s interests have taken a certain scatological turn. This is typical for pre-adolescent boys and it is a phase that will last, according to my mom, until death. He comes by it honestly. When I was eleven I was editor of a publication entitled Constipated Illustrated - it was a journal of the movement.
Before sending him to pre-school I tutored in my son in the armpit flatulence thing that all boys must do. My highly skilled son is a natural leader, at least in this regard. Surprisingly it has not moved his school to track him into a gifted course.
This morning, Mother Goof had left for work early and I was tasked with rousing the children. They are still recovering from our recent travels so I understood that they weren’t moving that quickly. I crawled into my son’s bed and began shaking him gently. He still didn’t move, his eyes were shut, his breathing was soft and regular.
Then, suddenly from under the sheets came blaaat!
The sheets blew off and he sat up laughing at me. I really can’t believe the school hasn’t seen his talents.
No comments:
Post a Comment