I Have A Weirder Than Usual Weird Conversation With My Weird Son

So there I was, scooping peanut butter in a frosting bag so I could use said bag to squirt peanut butter into a Kong for our dogs to play with so they'll leave me alone for five minutes. (I'm never as altruistic as people assume. There's always a motive behind my niceness.) I knew the momentary peace was doomed to be shattered, but I couldn't have predicted how.

In comes a child of my loins, The Boy.  "Mom, could I get a black top hat?"

"A black top hat?" I'm squirting peanut butter into the Kong, which looks like a red rubber hollow snow man. Mmm...a peanut butter stuffed snow man? Insanity. Chocolate-stuffed, though. That one I would consider.

"Yes, please."

"For school?"  Squirt.

"Yes."

"For the play?" Squirt.

"No."


After a pause, I resumed squirting and asked, "Are you gonna elaborate on that or were you just expecting a check?"

"For Snow Week. We can dress up like anyone we want and I have those really nice black clothes."  It's true, he does. Had to buy him dress pants and shirt for Jazz Band ("They won't let you perform in shorts and a t-shirt? Snobs."), and when they all troop onstage it looks very impressive. It doesn't hurt that he's tall, slender, and pale...like a little BBC Sherlock!

"And...?" Squirt.

"And if I wear black pants and a black shirt and black shoes, and a black top hat, I'll be head to toe in black."

"AND...?"

"Johnny Cash, Mom!" This in a tone of 'gawd, get with the program already, stupid woman'. "He's also known as the Man in Black. Oh." Now he looks sympathetic. "Did you not know that?"

"Of course I knew that," I snapped, refilling the frosting bag with more butter of the peanut. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who told YOU that. I'm not buying you a black top hat that you'll wear at school for one day and never again. How about a black baseball cap?"

My suggestion was met with an eye roll. "No, Mom. Johnny Cash was classy. A baseball cap?" Disgusted snort. "I've never seen a picture of him in a baseball cap."

"I'm pretty sure you've never seen a picture of him in a top hat, either!"

"Yeah, but it's still classy," he persisted, unaware of how close he was to getting a frosting bag bulging with peanut butter rammed down his throat. 

"I'M NOT BUYING YOU A TOP HAT SO HOW ABOUT THAT?" Then: "Aagghh!" I'd unthinkingly clenched my fist. Peanut butter everywhere. "Dammit!"

"Mom." He eyed my fist, now dripping peanut butter. "You don't even like peanut butter."

"It's not for me, you---never mind. No. No to the top hat. No to peanut butter. No to rubber snow men stuffed with chocolate. No to everything."

"But not the top hat, right?"

"Get. Out."

Haven't seen him since. I guess those usually dormant survival skills finally kicked in. Now I just need to figure out how to get peanut butter out of my watch wristband.