I will tell this story simply to bump the horrifying Wacko Jacko pic down the blog and below my vision line.
When Ethan was little, about five we were watching TV. We had spent the morning at the beach and now we were showered and sunburned on the couch. Lisa was in the kitchen making dinner. Ethan was intensely scratching his butt. You know, really digging in there.
I could see this in my peripheral vision but ignored it as he was five, and after all it was his ass. Every once in awhile he would pull his hand out and sniff his fingers. We all do it....let's just admit it. But he was still young enough to do this in public and think that deep ass scratching created a magic bubble around him where no one could see in. Much like when I was seven and would pick my nose and eat it under the cover of my other hand so no one was the wiser.
But then he turned to me, holding out the offending hand and said, "Sniff my fingers."
"No."
"Come on, sniff 'em"
"No, you've been scratching your butt."
"I know, they smell like poop, smell 'em."
Ah, to be young again.
14 comments:
couldn't have read a funnier blog over breakfast. good times, good times.
I'm sure he will appreciate that...
Abbzug, you were eating when you read that? I was drinking coffee and struggled to swallow. Some of these should be prefaced by a disclaimer.
and I was attempting to assist a student when I read this. But, since I learned that I could actually laugh hard in total silence, I put it under the Stuff I Learnt blog.
part of that story actually reminds me of Nan
Polvo,which part reminds you of Nan?
Butt digging or laughing in silence?
part of this story reminds me of aug.
P.S. I laughed and laughed at this story......As I read, I thought when Ethan turned and extended his finger he was going to say "Pull my finger" for sure. (Pretty much everyone I know that is related to Barry, in some form or fashion, no matter how distant, would have.)
I actually smelled my own finger after reading this.... just to double check
and?????
You know in order to "Re-tell" a story, one has to (logically) remember it. But in addition to that typically something needs to "jogg" the memory if you will - so I am left wondering - what happened for Valencia, or what was she doing, when she got hit with the "hey that reminds me" moment - and then post this story?
I went back and read the mission statement of this blog:
the (re)telling.............. a collective memory of told, retold, and soon-to-be told stories. all true. or mostly true. or close enough to true that they could've been true. or not. It's like a village version of "Story Corps"...
and find that this story meets the requirements!
I thought this story was very well told. It evoked many emotions! Such talent!
and scents........
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