“I go to the gaaaame,” he beseeched me repeatedly from my left hip, as I tromped across the parking lot from the tailgating party to the big show. He’s 32 pounds now, you know, and as it happens, he likes being carried more than ever. I wake up sore each morning from the hours of hefting him hither and yon.
“Do you want to ride on my shoulders?” I’ll ask hopefully, longing to give my biceps a break. Sometimes he acquiesces, and other times he shouts, “DON’T SAY THAT!” and shakes his finger in my face.
Two. It’s a really great age.
Anyway, when we were in stands, I gave him a bite of my cotton candy, which we all know is pretty much like feeding a toddler several grams of premium crack cocaine. In Shef’s case, the sugar high fueled his intense desire to see the pig. The Saint Paul Saints have a real live pig mascot that comes out between innings dressed up in different costumes, and after he saw it one time, he yelled:
“WHERE’S THE PIG!?!?” every five seconds, much to the delight of our section-mates.
2 comments:
I have taken up "Don't say that!" accompanied by a wagging finger. My family loves it. THANKS be to SHEF!
i also admire the direct "don't say that!" It's even better than my aunt's use of "I don't like it." But I like the finger wave gesture as emphasis.
Really cute picture!
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