I was in my room at my parent's house today, and Handsome had stayed over for a visit. We were the only ones in the house at the time, and we were looking for stuff to do since it was raining all day. Going fishing was out. Playing soccer was out. I even called the local roller rink, but they are closed on Sundays during the summer. It actually says right in their website "If it's raining call us! We are usually open 12:30pm - 3pm".
I called. It's bull-byproduct.
So I was in my room wondering what to do with the boy, when he called up the stairs.
"Dad! Can I have a towel?"
Now, I know this boy, and I know he's hard pressed not to make a mess no matter where he is. You can track him through the house by following the fingerprints on the walls. You can tell he's home because whatever he came in the house with, be it a library book, a wet jacket, or if he has nothing else to drop, his shoes, will be found in the middle of whatever room where it will be in someone's way the most. This is the boy who once took a shower, was dressed but still wet from the shower, went to meet me in my car as we were on the way out somewhere, was out of my sight for maybe 8-10 seconds, and when I got to the car he was inside it and covered in mud.
Covered in mud.
When I asked him what the heck happened, how did he get that way, he looked down at himself in surprise.
I'll say that one again, just because I was there and I still don't believe it.
He looked down at himself in surprise, and told me he had no idea what happened.
I'm sorry... I need a moment here... this still freaks me out... I'm baffled... hang on ...
Okay, I'm back. So, with all this and more in mind, when my son asks me for a towel I'm wondering what the hell happened that is just too big for the paper towels he has down there. Spilled milk that looks more like a violent murder scene, with it splashed on the walls and ceiling, a rookie police officer running away to throw up so he doesn't contaminate the scene? Some sort of foodstuffs pulling a Mount St. Helens and covering the whole first floor of the house in a cloud of nasty particles? Even a spontaneous indoor rain of the afore-mentioned bull-byproduct, falling with even less explanation that a rain of frogs, covering the floor with an inch or more of bovine feces?
My heart in my throat, I called back. "What do you need it for?"
He strolled into the room, looking just as he had all morning, no telltale stains or splashes on his clothes. He walked up to me, arms outstretched, asking for a hug.
Thinking he was buttering me up for whatever horror he had to tell me about, I hugged him.
He was soaked. Right though to the skin. I pulled him away from me and looked him over.
"How did you get so wet?"
"I went outside," he said matter-of-factly.
"To do what?"
"I went out to play in the stream."
My eyebrows shot up.
"What stream? There's no stream..."
He brought me over to the window looking out to the street in front of the house and pointed.
The gutter. It was raining so hard the gutter was flooded, and a small river of water was flowing past the front of the house, pushing with it all sorts of street trash. Wrappers, dirt and sand, yard waste, any fluids that cars had dropped in the street lately, all sorts of stuff. That was what he had played in. That was what he was covered in.
That was what he had just wiped all over me with that hug.
I sighed and handed him a towel.
"Stay off the furniture until you dry off. Unless of course, you want to take a shower, change clothes?"
"Nope. I'm good."
He went back downstairs and I returned to my search for something to occupy us.
What, did you think there was going to be some big, funny blow-up for the finish? Naw. I was slightly disgusted, but he did go back out in the rain, so he did effectively rinse off. Besides, it kind of made me smile.
Hell. I used to be a boy.
Talk to you later!