Against my better judgement, I decided a day at the lake with Ang, the kids, and some good friends was a better choice than guzzling antacids and watching Wake take on the White Sox today. So I'll take the hit on missing out on the sweep of Ozzie and the Pale Hose.
We were invited to do some boating and tubing a few weeks ago, so after church we packed up and headed to the lake to spend the day with Edge and her family; which is where Rakes and I had one of our typical conversations.
Rakes: "I gotta go to the bathroom BEALLY bad, Dad."
Me: "OK son, let's go".
Rakes: (While walking) "I gotta go Poopy, Dad. NOW."
Me: "C'mon, let's run."
Rakes: "DAD, I GOTTA GO POOPY RIGHT NOW!"
Me: "We're almost there; just try not to think about it."
Rakes: (With a look of resignation I can't accurately describe) "I'm just gonna go right here".
I'm pretty sure the look that flashed across my face when he uttered those 6 words would have scared any new born within 50 yards; somehow we made it to the restroom with seconds to spare and any collateral damage was avoided.
If my shrink gets word of this I'll be putting in 3 visits a week for the foreseeable future, so it's a good thing I had Miss Hathaway put a block on the blog the other day.
Which brings to mind this question; Why, at any public place, are we the farthest point away from the closest restroom when he turns into Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber? It never fails; he has to go and we're 4 football fields from the nearest facility and when we get there they are out of toilet paper, soap, or both.
I guess I should count my blessings; at least we made it.
Bring on the Orioles.
And pass the Tylenol.