April 27, 2010
Berlyn and I were out, she was on her bike and I was riding a skateboard.
Whatever, I’m cool. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.
Anyways, we saw these boys and they started talking to us.
If you know me, you’d know that I don’t really enjoy kids, but these boys were kinda adorable, and they were 5-years old, so I made a special exception.
We did the usual chit chat about soccer, and baseball and how being five is way cool, but six is slightly better.
And then Kid A said, “you’re like 30 aren’t you?”
To which I replied, “Phhsh, 30? Are you serious? Don’t I look 24?
Kid B: No, you look like you’re 40!!
Me: 40?! I look 40? Dangit, I really should be spending less time outdoors.
Kid A: No, you look like you’re zero.
I think that was his very special way of giving me a complement. I don’t expect 5-year olds to understand the complicated psyche of a woman. Hell, I don’t understand myself most of the time.
Then we started talking about skateboards and how totally crappy I am riding one, and then Kid A said, “you have wheels on your butt!”
Me: Really? On my butt? Where?!
Kid A: You have wheels on your eyes!!
Me: Oh, I get it, you’re being weird. I’ll play along. Oooh, I have wheels on my eyes. Look at me, I can skate on my eyeballs.
And then I did this awesome pantomime thing like I was doing sweet Tony Hawk tricks on my eyeballs, and it looked like a cross between ice dancer-princess and like an angel was inhabiting my body for a brief second. I felt like I was floating on a cloud made of ethereal dust, but it was totally lost on them.
Doesn’t anyone appreciate preforming arts anymore??
Kid A: Dude, your boobs stick out. They stick out like this. (Making finger guns and sticking them on his chest) Nee Naw!! (that was his sound effect for my boobs…I find it fitting)
Me: Yup. I have boobs. Anyways, look a rock. You’re a kid, you like rocks, right?
(I was trying to divert this tragically awkward conversation)
Kid A: You have boobs and a WIENER!! You have a wiener that shoots boobs.
Me: Alright, You crossed a line, kid. Come on Berlyn we got to go.
(Thankfully she was out of earshot for the entire conversation)
Kid A: You have a wiener on your butt!! And you pee out of your butt too!
Me: Nope. I do not have a wiener on my butt. Don’t you understand basic anatomy? And people don’t pee out of their butt, they pee out of their urethra, so there!
Not really a zing, huh?
What was I supposed to do? Reprimand him? I didn’t know where his mom was. I kept asking, and he said she was inside their house.
I had to refrain from coming back with nasty comebacks, because, Hello? I’m an adult, and apparently I look 40, so I had to act appropriatly.
So, it’s conversations like this that remind me why I don’t really like kids.