Not My Kid

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Paul took the boys swimming this afternoon, somewhere other than the animal trough in the garage. They hung out for quite a while, and at one point Paul was treading water part way down one of the lanes.

A little boy – maybe five – came tooling by, wearing a massive floatie device, but making good time. “Hi! I’m Donny*!” he chirped.

“Hi Donny! I’m Paul.”

“I’m swimming!” Donny beamed.

“I see that,” Paul said. “Good job, dude!”

“And I’m peeing right now, too!”

—–

This is just a little shout out to Donny’s mom, whoever you are: solidarity, sister. If Donny tells you about this tomorrow and you think about first dying of embarrassment and second duct taping his mouth shut and third moving to Montana … well, relax. He couldn’t have picked a better confessor. Paul nearly drowned laughing, and I’m just really happy it wasn’t my kid saying something outrageous.

This time.

Also, hooray for chlorine.

 

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

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