The Blame Game
The other night we had the Catherine-the-Gorgeous and her son, Angus-the-Red-Blooded, over for dinner.
Angus may be a mere six-and-a-half and my Sapphire a relatively worldly eight-and-a-half but they really enjoy each other's company. Their toes touch as they laugh through a Shrek DVD; their heads meld when playing Nintendogs and their chortles echo throughout the neighbourhood when they try to out-bounce each other on the trampoline.
This makes it easy for us adults to stay outside, drink more rose and talk with very little interruption. Several hours later however, a clearly distressed Angus stormed outside. When a kid strides towards their parent with a purposeful gleam in their eye, it is to be assumed that some serious dobbing is likely to occur. If it is your child who is the Dobber, you feel a mixture of shame that they can't roll with the punches and some relief that they are seeking vindication instead of violence. If your child is the Dobbee, it is mostly a mixture of shame and dread - what on earth had Sapphire done to Angus, one of her best friends?
"SHE did this to me!" he yelled, pointing at her through the glass doors. Inside, Sapph was supremely unconcerned, absent-mindedly patting Dogadoo and still watching the movie.
"Sorry Angus, what did she do to you?" Love Chunks asked gently.
"THIS!" He pointed to his nether regions.
What on earth......
"Sweetie," Catherine said, "We still don't understand." (Plus we're already horrified at whatever hellish, twisted and macabre information is about to emanate from your lips): "What exactly happened?"
He again pointed to his crotch with a two handed motion that a Gangsta rapper would envy.
"SHE----" he paused to collect himself. "She......made me laugh so hard that I wet my pants!"
Our relieved and genuinely amused laughter only made him madder.
"Well, what are you going to DO about it? Look at me, I'm all wet!"
We three adults took a closer look at his dry shorts. Never did I think I'd be spending a Saturday night taking a close-range perve at a six year old's package.
"Um," I suggested nervously, "I don't notice ~ahem~ anything down there, but I can lend you a pair of Sapph's boardies if you like."
"I don't wanna wear GIRL'S shorts," he said, as he huffed his back back inside.
Seconds later, they were squished together on the sofa, laughing. It seemed that wetting your pants because you were having so much fun laughing with your friend wasn't a particularly bad way to spend an evening.