A Terrible Day

My six-year-old son slept in until 9:30 a.m. this morning. He got up and cuddled with my wife and I until we decided to get some breakfast. After he ate his corn pops with ice cold milk we went outside. He got to use a small flame thrower to ignite a ten foot bon-fire in the corner of the yard to burn tree trimmings. When the fire died down he tried left-over calimari from the date I took my wife on last night. He loved it. He thought eating little suction cups on tentacles was wonderful.

My six-year-old son played with neighborhood friends for the next few hours. They played guns and took a break to eat ice cream Drumsticks. Then he played wiffle ball with twenty neighbor kids who came to our house for a barbeque dinner. We had moose. They laughed and played and ate hot dogs and chips with lemonade. He got to hit from a wiffle ball launcher that pitched a golf ball sized wiffle ball every five seconds. He helped restoke the fire as the sun went down. He helped me catch a rat that ran out of the wood pile. He carried a bucket around to show his friends our captive. His friends went home and he went back to the fire with me taking turns stirring the embers and sitting on my lap. When the fire died down, we went inside.

My wife lifted him onto the sink and told him to look at himself. He was covered in dirt and had ketchup and chocolate stains on his shirt, and smelled of campfire. She looked at him in the mirror and said, "Look at you. You are filthy. Wasn't that a great day?"

"No. It was a terrible day." He responded.

"Why is that?" She questioned.

He looked at her reflection with a pained look on his face and said, "Because I have to take a bath."