Yesterday made me think twice about having children someday. I was in the post office waiting for my passport application to be sent, and a family of five was in front of me. They had one child a little over one years old desperately trying to escape the confines of the building. Despite every attempt resulting in his capture, every time his parents set him back down on the ground, the second they turned away he started charging for the door. It's amazing how a child that young knows to wait until his parents are not looking to try something brash, but he still can not figure out that no matter how many times he reaches for the door handle, he's just not quite tall enough to turn it.
After observing the little toddler, my attention was drawn to the oldest boy (I nicknamed him Brace-face). He was around the age of 12 or 13, right when adolescent boys think everything they say is funny, but in all actuality they are just polluting the air with their stupidity. He kept trying to crack jokes, but his parents weren't paying attention to him because they were too wrapped up in trying to get passports, and his younger siblings were too enthralled with the discovery of gold inside their nose.
Which leaves me with the last kid. The middle-child. The gem. She knew the meaning of perseverance. Not so much the way we like to know it...persevering through a job loss, or a hard scholastic course, or a race...more like persevering at making everyone wanting to kill themselves. That little girl single-handedly made my trip to the post office last 10 minutes longer than it needed to be. Why, you ask? Because she couldn't decide her hair color. It went from dirty blond, to blond, to reddish-blond, to brown-blond ("Is brown-blond a color?" her mom asked), to get this, TAN. Yup. The girl insisted that her hair was tan. In fact, she was so convinced that it was tan, that she said it at least 20 times, despite her mom's insistence that that was not a viable option of hair color. "Tan, mom. It's tan. Don't write brown-blond!" (which I guess they decided WAS a hair color). Finally her mom told her to shut up, and I began the application process 5 minutes later.
Sooooooo...kiddies. What a...hoot? Try pain in the butt.
2 comments:
I have been around at least 203 Brace Facees.
And I hate them all. If I ever have sons I will pray to the good Lord daily that they don't become one.
dude, this is funny
1. i can just picture you standing there observing the children like a non-threatening pedophile on vacation
and also, i just got my passport, I went to the willard post office cuz i guess it's faster and they prohibit children that look like the last dump you took...
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