One Man's thoughts, rants, and mumblings on family, life, and baseball.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Mr. Monk? Meet Rakes.
Do to the sheer weight of Trot-isms that have been coming fast and furious lately I'd forgotten about one Rakes story that happened the day we were leaving for vacation.
I gotta preface this by saying I'm a bit of a germophobe; BIG believer in washing hands, not touching the inside doorknob in a public bathroom, not touching a pay phone no matter what the emergency could be, etc..... and I sometimes forget kids see EVERYTHING.
As we left out that morning for the beach Ang had to stop at her hairdressers to pick up something vital. I have no idea what it was, only that there was no way on earth we could go to the beach without it and apparently this product isn't found in ANY store, mall, gas station, or Wal-Mart in America. So we went.
Mind you, we've been in the car a total of 10 minutes so far, and even though I made everyone go to the bathroom BEFORE we left the house, of course they all had to pee when we get there. After Ang and Ciera and Trot go, I send Rakes to one and I use the other. (I didn't have to go, but there was no way I was stopping for ME when I knew we had at least another 23 more we'd have to make before getting to the beach).
As I leave the room there is nobody there; no sign of anyone. So I call Rakes' name and get a THUMP, THUMP, THUMP coming from his door and him calling "In here, Dad". I open the door and there he is, standing like Hawkeye Pierce right after he'd scrubbed for surgery and before Hot Lips put on his surgical gloves. With great big eyes he say's "I didn't want to touch the handle and they don't have any towels. I just figured I'd wait on you to come and find me".