"Give me some of your tots"
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| Family firewood day |
Today he was in a funk. This time I wasn't quite sure why. It happens. Raising teenagers can be an exercise in patience. He had refused dinner. The rest of us were almost done with our burgers when he finally decided to join us at the table. The springtime sun was glorious and on this day we were having a good-ol' fashion Bar-Bee-Que. On the menu: Cheeseburgers (his favorite.)
Finally he sat down. Miraculously, despite his stubborn mood, he managed to wolf-down a grilled cheeseburger The 1/3 pound angus beef patty had been grilled to perfection and was adorned with all the accouterments.
Although still quite sullen and unsure whether or not this was the family for him or not, he pointed the ketchup bottle at his empty plate and I watched out of the corner of my eye. The rather large gloop of glossy redness piled-up. He had already eaten his burger. I was suspicious.
Sure enough, with his right hand, he slowly produced a lone tater tot from below the table. He dipped, He munched.
Done with my own dinner, I Deftly maneuver to his right side and waited for the right moment. “Give me some of your tots!”, I demanded with a smidge of drama.
“Get some of your own”, he told me. “I haven’t had anything all-flippen day!” There was a a small pause before I did what I knew I had to do. Noticing his hand poised at his right-hip pocket, I raised my foot and followed through with a good kick, aiming at the bulge in his right-hand pocket.
“Idiot!” He told me. We both laughed and suddenly the mood was right again as he produced a flattened glob of processed potato product from his grease-stained pocket. |
| I wish I could say that no tater-tots were harmed in the events that unfolded on this evening. If I had made such a statement it would be a bold-faced lie; don't judge. |
