Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Civil Disobediance

I have problems with authority.
I should probably start a support group, or a biker gang.
It was bad when I was a wee-un.
Respect? For who? Some fat old dude that whistled when he breathed and smelled like unwashed lemming? Call him Mr? For what? Living?
Obedience? Just because he had a swell uniform and a silly hat? Wait a second, this is the same guy that got us lost and let us throw frozen cans of pork and beans and a can of mosquito repellent in the fire? I am supposed to "obey" him?
Believe? Why? Because she has hygiene issues and a hatred for children? Possibly feel saddened for the fact that her brain was frozen in 1971 and she hasn't learned a damn thing since? But Believe?
death first.
As I have gotten older I would like to say it has gotten better, that I toe the line with the best of them.
OOOOOO I am going to hell for even thinking that.
I have gotten worse.
A lot worse.
It probably started when a rookie cop beat the living shit out of me when I was 12, for walking on the side of the road. Or it could have been the fistfight with a teacher (he won) when I was fourteen. For saying that Reuben didn't throw the hot tamale at his head. (it was Matt, but I wasn't gonna tell him that)
No matter.
Its these fantastic things that form and shape a human, from a wee-un to a not so wee-un, almost a big-un.
I would say that I am all grown up but if you have read any of my blogs or spent more then an hour with me you would spot that lie in Milli-seconds. I dislike Grown-ups. Boring and staid. Concrete brains. Line followers and punctuation Nazis. LIVE A LITTLE people.
or just let me be.
Two years ago I was out with the Fam. Me and the Wife and the numbers 1 and 2.
My number 2 (the wee-un) is a mini-mommy that looks at the world in a way that no human could ever hope to understand. Picasso maybe, or possibly Dali, but they are both a little normal compared to #2.
#1 is perfect. A follower of rules and a respecter of humans. She amazes me.
We had just seen a movie and enjoyed a pizza at the CPK.
Walking back to the car, well, the wife and #1 were walking. #2 and I were having a skipping contest and she was kicking my ass. I may be a rebel but I cant skip for jack turd.
We came to the escalators.
You know. Moving stairs. Fat America HELLO!
So I yelled to #1 "RACE ME DOWN"
The wife and #2 waited for us at the bottom.
#2 yelled "GO" and we goeth. #1 down the down and me down the up.
I mean really, its only fair.
It was a close race. #1 is fleet of foot and stretched out to break the tape milliseconds before me, A photo finish. Phelps and his fingernail could not have been any closer.
We were laughing and just living. Smiling even.
Then Bluto the Fat American security guard had to whip out his wee teenier and pee on our campfire.
He was pointing at me, I gave him my best innocent face (sneer) and said "Fuck that" and grabbing #1s hand sprinted away from the chubby with a star.
Two fine upstanding police officers of the law chose this moment to walk around the corner.
So chubby, winded after his 25 foot sprint/roll wheezed at them "stop that guy!" and pointed his whole fat hand right at me.
I gripped #1s hand and really sprinted. It was hard, I was laughing and she was having hysterics.
as we passed the other 2 who were (wisely) pretending not to know us I underhanded wife the car keys and said "pick us up, bottom level" sotto voice.
The porkers were gaining at this point so we took evasive action, ducking and dodging in between cars and floors and eventually we pulled the old "hide behind this corner and let the flatties run by oblivious" trick.
Its only failed me once.
Not this time.
With my hand over #1s mouth to keep her absolute terror quiet, they ran right on by.
We started doing our best nonchalant walk back up the ramp and wife and #2 pulled up.
At this point I should be able to drop a pithy saying to tie it all together and leave you laughing for the next few minutes.
Sorry, maybe next blog. We were fugitives, and chubby was not going to let us go so easy.
They were stopping cars and shining flashlights into faces.
This may be the understatement of the year when I say I don't Blend in. This night my hair, very long, was loose and I had on a masculine Salmon (BrightFCKNpink) shirt. No blending.
Thinking quick I made #1 take of her lime green tank top thingy that she had on over her shirt and #2 handed over a spare pony (silver and glittery) for me to tie my hair back.
So, dressed to the nines in space traveling transvestite fashion, we passed the inspection.
Tom Cruise magic saved us.
The gestapo was foiled and we sailed out into freedom.
I laughed all the way home, #1 had absolute hysterics and #2 lamented that she had not been able to trip the police chaps. Wife just smiled and shook her head gently.
Live a bit Today Folks.


Sapphire Dragonflies said...

After reading this I firmly believe that #1 and #2 absolutely insist that you are the BEST. DAD. EVER!!

Chris said...

Your wife is a smart woman. Pretending not to know you, only to prove herself the perfect partner in crime.

There's way too much alliteration in this comment.

Anonymous said...

What a great story! You had me at 'unwashed lemming' and kept me smiling and then laughing to the very end!

I wish I could've been a fly on that gestapo change room wall when that story came out...

Spenc said...

That was such a fun post, it makes me want to see what I can get away with today! Thanks.

Aimee said...

Oh daddies....sigh.....

Anonymous said...

That. Is. Awesome! :) Sounds like you have one hell of a kid in #1 for keeping up with your wiley ways...and in #2 for denying any knowledge of who you are! bright kids!