Fire-Butt

matt-tray

Sometimes exposing your children to new taste sensations isn’t always the wisest course of action:

Me:  (walking in from work, noticing a pizza on the counter) “Oh, sweet!  Heart attack in a box!  What kind did you order?”

Mama Angel:  “Buffalo Chicken.” (Gives me a peck on the cheek, heads upstairs to get ready for work)

Me:  (half a piece already crammed in my gob) “Oh, yeah.  That’s some good artery-cloggin’.”

Roundbottom:  (noticing that his father has the audacity to be eating without him) “Pizza?” (Translation:  “I cannot help but notice that you are consuming foodstuffs without me.  You know better than that.  Turn it over”)

Me: “Buddy, I don’t know that you’re gonna want to try this.  It’s kind of spicy…..”

Roundbottom:  “Daddy, Pizza?”  (Translation:  “I’m sorry.  I missed the part where I asked for your opinion.  Food.  Now.”)

Me:  “Buddy, this is going to give you the fire-butt” (Translation:  “I do NOT want to change that diaper.”).

Roundbottom:  “Fire-butt?”  (Translation:  “You’re bluffing, Old Man.”)

Me:  “That’s right, fire-butt.  How about chicken nuggets instead?”  (Translation:  “Please, just once, listen to me for both our sakes.”)

Roundbottom:  “Fire-butt!  Pizza!”  (Translation:  “I am Roundbottom, rocker of thick thighs, consumer of mass quantities!  The flame holds no fear for me!  I ride the fire!  Fork it over!”)

Me:  Buddy, I don’t know that Mom would want me to give you this….” (Translation:  “I don’t wanna get in trouble”).

Roundbottom:  “Fire-butt!”  (Translation:  “Let me ask you this, Father….who’s going to be here with you all night?  She’s on her way out the door.  I’m here to stay.  You know it’s wisest just to go ahead and make me happy.”)

Me:  (surreptitiously removing the bits of chicken in an attempt to minimize the inevitable fireburst,  while checking over my shoulder to insure I’m not being watched by a responsible adult) “Okay, bud.  You asked for it….”

Roundbottom:  (smiling smugly, gnawing on his hard-won slice):  “Pizza!”  (Translation:  “I’ve won again, Old Man.  I ALWAYS win.  You’ve been weighed, you’ve been measured, and once again, you have been found wanting, you sissy la-la.”)

Me:  “How is it?”  (Translation:  “Please don’t puke that up.”)

Roundbottom:  (smacking his lips) “Nummy good!”  (Translation:  “I’ve never known such a delicacy.  Surely the ambrosia of the gods pales in comparison.  It’s as if the clouds have parted and shown me the paradise where angelic choirs give voice to heavenly song.  This is a day of days.  I’ll be needing a juice now.”)

The night then went on without incident, Roundbottom hitting bedtime without needing to be changed for a “#2”.

Then I got a call at work from Mama Angel this morning.  Apparently, the volcano finally blew.  I’ll spare you the language used, as this is a PG-13 rated blog.  Suffice it to say, she was not pleased.

Also, I’m not allowed to feed the children anything not already posted on the approved list anymore.

 

 

 

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