We're The Kids In America

Bubba Jr. is my Godson, nephew, my sister Angie's little one and all around great kid. He is selling candy for a school fundraiser, so naturally he called me.

Without so much as a "Hi Aunt Lois," he began with, "I am selling candy for my school." Knowing it was a child, but not being able to place his voice right away, I just listened. Thankfully, I didn't treat him like the last telemarketer.

He continued, "It's for our annual fundraiser. Each half pound box is ten dollars. I've already sold 70 dollars worth. We have Meltaways, Truffles, Trinidads," it was the way he said Trinidads that tipped me off to who I was talking to.

"Wow, Bubba, you are selling all the good ones! And 70 bucks already is great!"

"Yes, I know. Actually, we have other varieties also." His businesslike personality was just killing me.

"Didn't your mom tell you I was broke?"

"She said you might say that. I have until the 14th of November to sell the candy. You have time to make a decision between now and then."

Laughing, I said, "Oh, good. I do need a little more time to make a decision. Please call me back and I will let you know."

"Okay, I will. Goodbye."

No "I love you Aunt Lois," just all business.

The little shit called me the very next day. I guess I should have been more specific about when he should call again.

Without a "Hello" he began with, "Have you made a decision about what kind of candy you would like to purchase?"

I let him know I would call him when I made my decision. I caught up with my sister Angie a couple of days later and asked what the hell she was doing to my sweet little nephew. She claimed she had nothing to do with his sales pitch. I think we need to schedule an intervention for this child before he is doomed to a life of telemarketing.

---

My nephew Yoda, Mary's 22-year-old, had a moment of embarrassment that I can't help but share. He went to the apartment management office to complain about the laundry facilities. He marched into the office ready to tell the manager off. She kept calm as he rambled on about the automated cash card not working in the machines.

The manager told him that their maintenance department was working on the issue and thanked him for understanding.

He went back to the apartment and told my mom what was said. "Understanding? All I understand is that I have dirty laundry and can't do shit about it."

Just as my mom was about to try calming him down, he started laughing. His fly was wide open the whole time. Under his pants, peeking through the zipper were his Pillsbury Doughboy boxers.

"My temper isn't all that's rising," he joked.

I imagine it's difficult to look and sound tough when your little bread stick is showing.

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While helping at St. Peter Paul and Mary School yesterday, one of the first grade students sat next to me. She said, "You're Lane 2's mom aren't you?"

"Yes, and may I ask, who you are?"

"I'm Lane 2's chapel buddy, Theresa."

I shook her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Theresa. Did you come over to get help with your reading?"

"No. I came over to smell you."

"Smell me?"

"Uh-huh. Anna said that you smell like her grandma. I like the way Anna's grandma smells. She smells like my grandma."

Anna was the first kid I worked with. I didn't notice her sniffing me, which is why Theresa caught me off guard.

"Oh. Well.. thanks." I said, not sure if I was being insulted or complimented. Out of the mouths of babes can go either way.

She hugged me tight and breathed me into her little nose. Then, she smiled. I took it as a compliment. I woke up with my back in pain and before I left the house, I rubbed Sports Cream into the sore spots. I guess it was either that or the smell of my depends wafting.