The Boo, pictured pre-rampage.It's kind of a long walk for the little fella, so he likes to mix in some running and some karate chops and some side kicks to keep things interesting. Sometimes he falls a little behind, but I just yell "Ketchup" and he comes running. Um...not because he loves ketchup, well, he DOES love ketchup, but it's because "ketchup" sounds like, nevermind just watch Pulp Fiction.
So, we're walking down the sidewalk, and I catch an adult voice saying something that sounds like "Do you HAVE to walk on the flowers?" I turn around and see a guy with a look on his face of I-can't-believe-I-live-in-such-a-world. Meanwhile, The Boo is oblivious that the guy even asked him a question. He's just walking along and has obviously brushed up against some flowers that were sort of hanging over the sidewalk. I look at the guy and say "Excuse me?"
Now, here I must interject that I didn't say "EXCUUUUUSE ME?" in a challenging sort of way, but simply "Excuse me?" in a way to signify to this guy that I wasn't sure I understood exactly what he had said. SPOILER ALERT: I was completely in the right here.
I'm tired of calling this guy "the guy," so I'll call him Belty McShorts as he was wearing a t-shirt tucked into his shorts and a belt. He also had stupid facial hair, which isn't important to the story, but this is my blog so I can be as petty as I want.
So, I say "Excuse me" and Belty looks up at me and says "I asked HIM if he HAD to walk on the flowers." He says this like I'm rudely intruding on the conversation he's having with my pre-kindergarten-aged son.
For lack of something else to say, as I am a bit nonplussed, I reply "He's five."
Belty starts to go into his whole thing with "That's no excuse for walking..." but I interrupt with "No, I mean he's five, so he's not going to understand your rhetorical question." It's Belty's turn to be nonplussed, but he manages to croak out "What?"
Now it's MY turn to lecture, so I say "He's five, so he's not going to understand the purpose of your clever sarcasm. He won't get that you're trying to be mean to him." Meanwhile, The Boo has just kept on walking, so I turn to catch up with him, leaving Belty to fire his parting shot, which was "Don't have any more children."
Ok, so, I have to admit that my immediate instinct was to go home, make a baby with my lovely wife, wait four or five months, get an ultrasound that clearly shows the baby (maybe one of those fancy 3D ultrasounds, go all James Cameron on him), knock on Belty's door and be all "Boo-yah! Another kid that will trample your flowers in five years, Belty!" Then I remembered that Jen and I have decided that two children are a gracious plenty and that spite probably isn't a good enough reason to have a third.
Not the victim.