Monday, September 30, 2013

A Really Bad Goat Metaphor


Tomorrow my daughter becomes a teenager, which means that tomorrow will not be that different from today. I like teenagers. They are as moody as hell, but fun and awesome. Plus, they finally start laughing at my jokes. Which is very condemning, because often my jokes are inappropriate. The other day, while driving past a hideous, blocky purple-painted building, I offhandedly told my son that it was "Tinky Winky's gay bachelor pad." He scrunch-faced and laughed and laughed. A few years ago this wisecrack would have gone over his head. See? Teenagers! They laugh at my patently groan-worthy jokes! I should rent them out to my funny friends.

Is it bad that I like my kids more when they are in school? Probably. Do I care? NO.

This summer while I was driving along a country road a few miles from my house, a fat goat that looked like a corncob with legs ran straight at my minivan. I slowed down and swerved away from the goat. Several yards behind the goat there was a man with a lasso, and several yards behind him was a woman with flushed cheeks. The goat owners. Meanwhile the goat was running as fast as he could with a gleeful expression on his face. If there had been a thought bubble above the goat's head it would have read, "I'M FREEEEEEEEE." 

Being the friendly helpful person that I am, I drove down to the out-of-breath woman, rolled down the window, and said, "hey, do you want me to drive you closer to your goat?" (Notice how I didn't stop and make this offer to the man. What. He had a lasso.) She said sure! and climbed into the passenger seat. I u-turned my minivan and headed goatward. Her husband motioned for me to stop, so as not to spook the goat, and the lady got out of the car with a polite thanks. The goat had finally slowed down, looking winded. As he watched the man and woman approach him, his thought bubble read, "You have goat to be kidding me." (<<< Punny! My son would have laughed.)

I drove away, feeling mighty good about doing a good deed. And then I thought some more and started feeling really sorry for that goat. 

The day that my kids (<<< more goat puns!) start school is the day that I feel like that goat, running happily down the road. 

The day that my kids get out of school and summer starts is the day I can feel the goat owners closing in on me.

But until that dreaded day in May, I'M FREEEEEE, BITCHEZ.


2 comments:

  1. May your legs carry your corn cobbed body all the way until May without leaving you winded. Amen.

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