Preface: This final installment of my “Best of the Year” is not for the faint of heart. Seriously, if easily disgusted, you might want to move one. Consider yourself warned.
I learned something this weekend while camping. I, the Curly-Headed Mommy of the Little Lady, can gross out little boys. I’m so proud of myself.
These are the Little Boys.
They love camping. Well, actually, they love being stinky, hot, sweaty, and filthy. At one point in our weekend, one of the Little Boys, after an
unsuccessful fishing expedition, proudly exclaimed “I’m too stinky to catch anything. They won’t come to me!” Apparently, knowing that you smell bad is better than catching anything. This was news to me.
Being raised as good Southern boys, they are very proud little Americans. Being a proud little American boy means that, when camping, you have to hold your own version of the Olympics. With goggles. You can NOT forget your goggles.
For about 30 minutes, they splished and splashed to their hearts content, racing each other and having cannon-ball competitions. Then, they took a tanning break. Yes — these Little Boys paused to work on a tan. Their own idea.
The hot days of our weekend went on like that. They swam, fished (which really just meant they held a fishing pole and yelled a lot, much to the annoyance of their daddies), and got dirty. They were the Princes of All Things Gross, until Sunday.
The rain that pummelled our campsite on Saturday left Sunday with very soft, soggy ground that was too wet to contain the earthworms. As we began our breakfast, the Boys — thanks to observant uncles who actually found the worms — put a couple of squirming treasures in a red plastic cup. They were now the proud owners of two long, purple-gray worms, which, the Little Boys decided, could be used to scare the girls in the camp. Since the two girl cousins, The Little Lady and Baby Girl, were too young, the Little Boys went around to the big girls (the mommies). When they came to me, I called their bluff.
LBs: (thrusting the red cup in my face and giggling) “Drink the worms! Drink the worms!”
Me: (I’ve never been one to back down from a little boy’s challenge) “Ok — hand it to me.”
LBs: (still laughing and waiting for me to be disgusted) “You’ve got to really drink it!”
Me: “You think I won’t?”
I raised the cup to my lips — looking inside the cup, I could see the two worms writhing and coiling around each other. With my lips now embracing the rim of the cup, I looked at the Little Boys out of the corner of my eyes. They were in disbelief and each little mouth was in a perfectly shocked “O.” With the cup now horizontal, the braver of the worms began inching its way out, peeking out of the cup and grazing the corner of my lips and my cheek. I began to “drink.”
LBs: (screaming loud enough to gain the entire family’s attention) “Ewww! Ewww! Ewww! She’s really doing it! Look! See! EWWW!!!! EWWW!!!!”
I lowered the cup and slowly gulped.
LBs: (still in shock) “Did you really drink it?”
Me: “Of course I did — ugh, I can still feel it going down” and I pointed to the base of my throat. “It kind of tickles.”
Still yelling their disgust, they ran off to tell their respective Mamas what that gross big girl had done.
Originally published in August, 2008