On Monday and Thursday mornings Short Bus has his “My Grown Up and Me” classes at the YMCA; usually I take him on Mondays and his pop on Thursdays. So this evening I call his Dad to see how it went this morning. An actual conversation:
XMASTIME: How was class this morning? He have fun?
POPS: Yeah, he had a great time. Got popped in the head though. By, ahh, who was it...
XMASTIME: Lucas?
POPS: Yes! Lucas.
XMASTIME: Figured. Fucker.
POPS: Wait, how'd you know this? He's hit him before?
XMASTIME: Oh no, he's never actually hit him. But he looks mean, always looks mad.
POPS: Oh. Yeah, was him.
XMASTIME: Never smiles. Always walking around, looking at shit. Shady fuck. Could tell first day, looks like a little violent prick.
POPS: Kid's okay. Cried a bit, that's it.
XMASTIME: This asshole's been gunning to hit someone for weeks. I could tell.
Of course, this is a 2 year-old kid, and I'm talking as if he's the Joe Pesci character of the class. Christ.
Oh, and Lucas? Enjoy your weekend, friend. Got a feeling Monday morning MIGHT be a little rough on you. Cough.
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