Imagine my surprise upon taking Large and Small Fry to town only to be told we were not alone. BJ was with us. BJ is a fun loving girl who gets into trouble, rolls down car windows, and at times barks.
Today BJ has been a riot. She's pounded the floor, squirted juice, and made a mess on the floor.
But the most awesome example of how BJ is slowly starting to ruin my life and it's only been one day was at the post office this morning. I was stupid enough to take Large Fry out of the vehicle and allow him to come into the building with me to check the mail. Mistake One-complete.
I then allowed him to talk to people. As we were leaving with our A&W flyers (yes I horde those like a fat kid hordes pie. I love A&W for cheap!) Large Fry runs over to the counter and starts waving the post office lady over. Unsuspecting she walks over to him and asks him "How can I help you?" And he replies "Have you seen my BJ? It was here a minute ago!" Mistake Two-complete
That poor flustered post office worker. She was looking around like crazy, hoping someone would save her from this tiny child asking her where his BJ was. I can't even deny he is mine because we look identical. Sometimes having a clone fucking suck. So I shuffle over to retrieve the child only to have him screeching "BJ! BJ! WHERE DID YOU GO BJ! I NEED MY BJ RIGHT. NOW!"
I have two options at this point.
Option A- Run. Grab him and run as fast as my ass will run and don't ever look back *cue possible looks of contempt and pity.
Option B- Have a short lived conversation about how he has a new imaginary friend named BJ, no I don't know where he got the name from, and yes I realize it's completely inappropriate but have you ever tried to reason with this kid? It just doesn't work on so many levels, but the biggest is because he's smarter than I am. *cue absolute looks of "What the hell are you smoking Lady?" and possibly pity.
Secret option C- Do option B and drink the leftover rum when I get home.
Option C is looking pretty damn good right now. Mission Mortify Mom? Complete