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So, the other day I stopped with my 3 well-mannered kids and like-minded husband to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

When the waitress appeared, our youngest carefully requested coffee, toast and french fries. Umm, he doesn’t drink coffee and he doesn’t like toast. Then one of the twins echoed his sentiments and ordered the same. The other twin asked for chicken soup without chicken or noodles — just the broth, please, and toast with one slice of ham.

With nary a look, the waitress walked away.

So began our fine dinner. My husband shrugged and said, “I let them order those things here …”

Then my husband took a straw and played out a scene from “Stand by me.”  He rolled a tiny piece of paper, dipped it in the water, inserted it into a straw and shot it at my unsuspecting son.

The following is what ensued. Spitballs. (I can’t bring myself to say the word aloud.)

Say it isn’t so …

My husband came to his senses as our son prepared to use our waitress as target practice. Luckily no one got hurt. Order was quickly imposed.


August 19, 2010