Have you ever heard that phrase? Butter face? Like in, “Everything about her was fine but-her-face?” I couldn’t get that out of my head when I met super soaker’s mother last night. She was a tall woman with heavily streaked blond hair and a face that would have looked great if it didn’t have the surface texture of a raisin. That’s pretty mean to say about someone who had just heard about her son and his friend dousing our bed with water and didn’t retort with, “Nah, my baby would *never* do that.”
I introduced myself with Nathan on my hip and explained what her son had done. The boy was standing about two feet behind her and before I could get to part where they soaked our bed, he said, “Yeah, I just told her,” like how serendipitous my arrival at their doorstep was since he had just confessed the same moment I rang the doorbell. Guess the mean old lady next door can just go home now!
She said that she was new there as well and apologized, adding that he should know better and that she’s told him not to “follow his friends.” She then turned to him and said, “Did you apologize to the lady?”
He muttered a “sorry,” and I ended it there, saying that I would appreciate it if it didn’t happen again. I also told her that I didn’t think her son was a bad kid, even though that was a bold faced lie. I could have also told her that I love cilantro and Katie Couric since I was also well into a fib. But what do you say to a woman who forced an apology out of her son to save face? (And what do you say about a woman blogging about that saved face looking like crumpled wax paper?)
And as much as I’d like to believe that her soft chastising would be enough to rectify the situation and permanently cease any boyhood antics, I’m hoping the security system we’ve ordered also has some rapscallion sensor included.