Rants, Raves, & Random Thoughts

Shameless self-promotion of my writing skills or lack there of.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Child's Spray

For about the last month, my son has been pestering me to buy him his very own bottle cologne. I keep explaining to him that a seven year old really doesn’t have to worry about smelling good, but he just doesn’t seem to believe me.

Last weekend, I compromised and bought him one of those little cans of Axe body spray. Needless to say, he was ecstatic. He must have “freshened himself up” at least once an hour for that first day. Fearing that my house would soon smell like some sort of all male brothel (excuse me while I suppress a shudder), I convinced him that he should only use it once a day. Even though he couldn’t smell it anymore everyone else in the house, and probably the block for that matter, could.

By Tuesday morning, he had his technique down. He hadn’t quite doused his entire body and he resisted the urge to spray on more after he was fully dressed for school.

I picked him up from school and he was sporting a grin from ear to ear. Obviously someone had commented on his new smell.

“Dad! Guess what happened to me today.” He said as he slammed the car door.
“Don’t slam the door son, I’ve asked you not to do that at least a hundred times.”
“Oops, I forgot again, but can you guess what happened?” He asked, more concerned with his story than the stupid door.
“Your teacher handed out your spelling words for the week and you already knew all of them?”
“Uh, no. Ms. Grisham in the lunch room said I smelled really good.” He said, his chest swelled with pride.
“Do tell?” I said with a shake of my head.
“And you know what else?” He pressed, nonplussed by my apparent lack of excitement.
“What’s that son?”
“She was right.” He said as he started dancing in the back seat to the song that came on the radio.
“Whew, I am glad we bought you the body spray then. I almost bought you canned flatulence, but your mom wouldn’t let me.” I teased, trying not to think that the way he was dancing reminded me of a bobble-head doll.
“What’s that? Is it “alone” like yours? (He still can’t quite remember what cologne is called.)
“No, it is a poot.” I said through a laugh.
“Why would I want to smell like that? Does someone actually put that stuff in a can?” He asked, wrinkling up his face in disgust.
“No, it was joke. I was just messing with you.” I explained, wondering exactly were it went wrong.
“Dad?” He asked timidly.
“Yeah, son.”
“Does mom think your funny?” I asked, staring at me in my rearview mirror.“Well, yeah. She says I’m a riot.” I explained, causing him to break into the chorus of Zoot Suit Riot. What else could I do? I just shrugged, turn down the radio, and sung with him the rest of the way home.


At 2:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Where did you find it? Interesting read » » »


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