My nieces and nephew had a pretty fun-filled weekend. They went to the Magic House, Arch, City Museum and Fitz’s. Their dad (Lil’ Bro) was in town, so the immaturity was kept to a minimum.
When I have them by myself, I usually let the rules slip a little. Shocker. I don’t let them shoot guns, or anything. But I let them stay up later than they should, and feed them ice cream for breakfast.
A few years ago, I bought them a remote-control fart machine. I had my nephew put it in his pocket, while I held the remote. We walked up to a couple enjoying their dinner at a patio restaurant in Westport.
“Excuse me, would you mind if the kids stand here so I can take their picture?” I asked.
“Oh, my goodness. They are so cute. Take your time,” the wife replied.
I walked a few feet away, and acted like I was taking their picture. Then I hit the remote, and a loud fart ripped from my nephew’s shorts.
The husband laughed. The wife asked for the check.
We also went to the zoo that year. Watching a giraffe peeing is always a crowd pleaser. So is looking at the monkeys with red butts.
But I knew it was time to go when my nephew noticed a turtle on top of another turtle.
“Look, Uncle Benny! Those turtles are fighting!” he yelled.
I looked at the couple next to me and whispered, “They’re not fighting, are they?”
The husband just nodded his head from side to side.
Then my nephew pointed and yelled again, “That must be the boy turtle because he’s on top, and he’s winning!”
Where did we park the car?
Haven’t you always wanted a monkey?