Kiss me here! Here! Here!

Oh, kids. So cute. So innocent. So totally and incredibly inexplicable.

What, exactly, goes on inside a preschooler's brain? I need to know. Sometimes these youngsters behave like semi-rational human beings. Other times, total retards*. I don't get it. But, it must be a shitload of fun. For example...

I'm bored. Why don't I shove my finger up my nose? If Mom sees me, I'll go into stealth mode and cover my finger with my other hand.

What will happen if I drop "this" (very expensive and fragile toy) from the upstairs landing onto "that" (very hard tile floor) below?

Let's lick the passport crafts Mom's been working on for Playdate Gone Global.

Hmmm. What word can I shout out that rhymes with Venus? Let's brainstorm loudly in this busy parking lot.

What's that on the bottom of my shoe? I bet I can name that taste in four licks.

Where does this hole lead to? And, why do my parents, like, totally freak out every time I stick my finger in it?

Hey Mom, that woman is sooooo fat! She must eat at McDonalds just like you said! Wait. Should I have used my "indoor voice" for that one? Oh, never mind. It's too late. Guess I'll just pick my nose and then stick my finger in the "freak out" area.

How fun to go through life with reckless abandon, knowing an adult will reign you in (or whisk you away) before you kill yourself or get your ass kicked by some poor woman in Old Navy.

I think it's all payback for what I did to my Mom at IGA** a long, long time ago. I was supposedly misbehaving, so my Mom did what all Moms in the '70s could do. Whacked me in the ass. Hard. And, I did what all bratty kids in the '70s did. Screamed bloody murder. Loud. And, if that wasn't enough. I started hollering, "KISS ME HERE. HERE. HERE" while repeatedly and furiously pointing to my ass. Luckily, there was a sympathetic Dad nearby to feed into my plan.

"Lady, maybe her diaper pin is sticking her? You should check."

I bet my Mom gave him the best fuck-you look ever and sent him packing. And, when she was done with him, I'm pretty sure she laid some Indian voodoo curse on me that went something like this: May your children make a spectacle of you in public, scream embarrassing things at the top of their lungs and act like borderline insane people.

Payback is a beeyach.

*I refuse to use tard-re. That is retarded.
**A grocery store where I embarrassed my Mom repeatedly.