You Make The Rockin’ World Go Round











It’s quite the brilliant lead if you ask me.  Even though it doesn’t seem to mean anything special to you right now, just stay tuned.


After about 6 weeks being away from the domain and off at college, Junior returned home this last weekend for an orthodontist appointment.  I’d go into detail on why he has to get on an airplane every once in awhile to get his grill adjusted, but that story fails in comparison to what follows in the upcoming verbal brilliance.


Naturally the family and the extended family gathered this last weekend so as to grill the boy on whether he was wearing clean underwear while he was away at college.  As dictated by American tradition and the meeting agenda which was distributed a day before, stories about Junior’s earlier years were dug up and broadcasted.


There was one story in particular involving a quick trip to the grocery store out of a need for some Moo Juice.


Junior was about 2, and the Chief Family Officer (Wifey) had taken him with her on the quick errand.  The milk section was a straight walk back from the door they had entered.  All they had to do was to walk straight back, grab a gallon, and get out of Dodge.


And so, they made their trek.


As Wifey and Junior made their way about half way down the aisle, they came upon an elderly lady who was trying to get something off of a lower shelf.  The item she wanted must have been low on stock, because most of the upper half of her body was deep in the shelving unit fetching her prize.


Of course, the stance the grocery store patron had taken had pretty much left her lower half exposed to the world and anyone  who may have been in the aisle with her.


Flash back to Wifey walking down the aisle hand in hand with Junior.  The plump rump hanging from one of the lower shelves  presented a minor obstacle, but not one that couldn’t be negotiated by a slight shift to the right.


Sadly, the slight shift to the right  wasn’t quite enough to avoid an unfortunate breech in etiquette involving Junior and his free, unheld hand.


Let’s summarize.


Big butt hanging out of the shelves, and it’s down pretty low.


Two year old boy walking down the aisle with a free hand.


Lady’s butt.


Child’s hand.


If you should need further details on what happened, go back and read the first five lines of today’s post.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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