Moving along. Lets talk for a moment about kids. I love kids. I have four nephews that all share my last name, all look kind of like me and all speak English. They are hilarious, smart, enjoy being on earth and don't have to pay rent. Plus, they really appreciate the greatness that is Whataburger.
Having said that, I'd like to address one thing in particular that continually makes me somewhat uncomfortable. Ready? When you're sitting at a table, or on the train, or in line buying your liquor and gorilla glue for the morning and the lady next to you - or in front of you...or to the side of you - is holding onto a cute little tike who, for whatever reason, finds you unbelievably fascinating. Fascinating to the point that the little fella stares holes through you as the puddle of sippy cup infused mucus flowing onto mommy's shoulder grows into a pond. Now, that is not a problem. Kids are curious. The problem really gains momentum and increases from a canter to a gallup when I begin to try to talk and interact with the little titan. I like to talk to them and try to get a giggle from them. FAIL. The whole process usually transpires in 7 stages. Perhaps you can relate. This happened to me this morning.
STAGE 1: Eye Contact. I notice two plate-size eyes beaming in my direction. Quickly, my attention is diverted from pocketing a pack of Top Cigarette paper to the issue at hand. A smile is cracked as I fake a cough and put the tobacco paper in my pocket. Success.
STAGE 2: Facial expressions. Now knowing that the game is well underway, my immediate impulse is not to realize that I am looking at a cute little raisin who has been on earth for less time than my rash. No, instead I believe the best move at this point is to completely ignore the beams being shot at me by the mom and instead, not make any noise but contort my face and dome into various shapes and expressions that the child can only process as being frightening and somewhat disturbing. The big smile, the tongue out, the confused muse, the constipated bellow, etc. At this point in the game, I am losing.
STAGE 3: Baby talk. Since my impression of a stroke victim has done little to entice the youngster, my next move by instinct is to begin to create words that have no meaning and no place in the English language. All sorts of unknown creations are being uttered at this time, such as "hoooola hi-eeeeeeeeeeeee" and "a boooga, booooga". Now, these noises in conjunction with my expressions that can be best described at what it looks like to squeeze an empty beer can on your forehead, do not bode well for the child. The kid continues to stare with little or no expression. I also like to point at random things.
STAGE 5: Judgement. After all of the previous stages have been thoroughly explored, the baby at this point has little choice but to stare and judge me. It is an uncomfortable exchange for a few moments because at this point I know the baby is thinking what a moron I am and how glad he is that I fall nowhere in his blood line. The mother quickly gets in on the act as she does a slow once-over of me from head to toe, then grimmaces and says something under hear breath. More judging. The she fakes a smile and pretends to check her BlackBerry.
STAGE 6: Small talk. My only move at this point - as the tike continues to judge and stare - is to say something to the mom. Something really funny and witty . . . something like, "I love kids. I'm good with them. Is it yours? Really, fun." FAIL.
STAGE 7: Sedation. As my ego plunges from judgement and failure, my last chance at redemption is to undo the vice grip the child has placed on the Sponge Bob sippy cup and fill it with whiskey. I am now smarter and better.
THE END.
Have a great weekend!
Tyler
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