TR likes to joke that he's really my son's father, and I'm starting to question whether that's a joke because over a five day span last week zson did the following:
1. At his nursery school graduation (which I did not attend due to work commitments and my general view that this wasn't a big deal, which apparently was not shared by many other dads who took off from work to be there and probably think I'm a heel), while everyone else was singing songs and reciting poems in unison, zson and his friend Danny yelled the closest things to expletives that 5-year-olds know. Stuff like "Underpants!" and "Butts!" and "Poop!" and "Penis!" zwoman was mortified.
2. After his nursery school graduation, zson and Danny and some other kids went to a nearby pizzeria with their respective moms. Danny dared zson to pick his nose and eat it. zson obliged. zwoman was mortified. This has become one of his signature gross-out moves.
3. He pulled the dry erase penis coloring stunt. I almost fainted.
4. He announced that when he grows up he wants to be a rock star or a baker.
5. I asked him why he was walking funny and he said "I'm stretching my balls out, they are sticking to my legs." He was going commando because that's his thing lately.
6. Later that day I was in the kitchen and he yelled from the living room "Daddy I pooped but don't worry my pants are clean." I asked how that's possible and he replied "The poop is on the floor." Apparently he was trying to make himself fart and instead he shat. His commando status allowed the (inordinately large) shit in question to fall nearly unfettered out of his shorts and onto my floor. He remained unfazed throughout. zwoman was mortified.
7. We went fishing and about 15 minutes in he announced that he had to poop. The closest storefront was a vintage car store that I've always wanted to check out so we hustle over there. I haven't showered yet that day so I'm oily and stinky and we both smell like sunblock and unwashed armpits. We walk in, zson bent over with intestinal distress, and the young guy who works there greets us and asks if he can help us. I point to the to-die-for-beautiful tangerine 1972 Porsche 911 RS lightweight (which is worth something like $1.4 million) and say "I'd love to buy the RS but I can't. My colleague here could really use a bathroom though." beautiful stuff they have in the showroom, including an old 356, some newer Ferraris, a Ford GT (which another sales guy started up and goosed the throttle so a potential buyer could listen to its angry engine note), and several other less audacious 911s. At some point I turn back to the RS and see the bottom half of zson sticking out of the passenger side window, his upper half firmly planted inside it, squirming around and torquing on 44-year-old irreplaceable car parts. Mercifully he was wearing shorts with no zipper or buttons, otherwise he would've scratched the door all to hell, but I still almost had a heart attack and pulled him out of the car. None of the worm guts on his shirt wound up inside the car, as far as I could tell. The young guy was not fazed and continued to talk about cars they're getting in, cars they used to have, etc. and when I turn around again zson is wiping his greasy paws on the 2007 GT3 RS (which is worth a mere $200k or so), trying to pry the driver's side open and getting kidprints all over the thing. As I pulled him off the car he announced "This is my favorite car here" and the young guy said "Me too! This is the best driver's car we've ever had, in my opinion. You have great taste in cars!" We were even invited to come back anytime we want. Despite ripping hellacious farts, sullying over a million dollars worth of cars, and generally acting like a jackass, zson charmed the daylights out of some total stranger while giving me palpitations.
zson has TR written all over him.