“Sammy’s mom, Sammy said butt!”
Whirling around to meet the unknown reporter I came face to face with the class princess.
“We don’t consider butt a bad word in my house” was my response. If she could have seen the wheels turning in my brain she would also have heard me tell her that she was lucky that butt was the word he used since he has so many colorful ones in his arsenal.
“Well, my mom says that butt isn’t a nice word.”
Okay kid, fine. You know what? Go over to the corner they have set up for flimsy weaklings with overly delicate sensibilities so you can recover from the horror of having to hear the word that clearly destroyed your life. God, get over it already.
What she should have found far more disturbing but had failed to notice was Sam and his cronies trying repeatedly to jam the plastic Fisher Price thermometer up a stuffed dog’s ass. Awww, I thought for a second, maybe he’ll be a vet when he grows up.
Now would be the right time to step in to diffuse whatever situation would blossom from this escalating disagreement.
First I had to deflate princesses self righteous bubble of indignity.
“No one likes a tattle tale” I practically sneered at her while making a beeline right for the group of boys who were clearly headed for a class action malpractice suit for destroying the Hippocratic oath (if there is such a thing for vets).
“Hey guys!” I chirped, “Why don’t you go over here in this empty corner and give puppy his check up, since (insert name of girl here) doesn’t want you near her saying the word butt.” All four pairs of little boy eyes lit up as a thunderous chorus of ” BUTT, BUTT, BUTT, LOOK AT MY BUTT” echoed down the hall.
I could still hear them as I was getting in my car.
