in preparation of my friend's rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, a trip to costco was made tonight for supplies.
the party consisted of: my friend barrett, his five-year-old son isa—a child i taught to say "white man is the devil" earlier in the day, something all african-american children should know—and fiancée jane.
upon entering the store, isa asked, "what are we doing here?"
"boosting our self esteem," i responded, looking over the clientele.
while passing a promotional display, that of a forty-year-old man in a hair catcher and wraparound microphone extolling the virtues of a heated blender that makes soup, isa asked, "what is he saying?"
"stay in school," i answered.
(while that wasn't a literal translation, i'm pretty sure i still got the content right)
on the way home from the store, i asked isa to make up a song called "my dad smells like stinky farts."
he did.
for ten.
solid.
minutes.
(invite ME to a goddamned wedding, will you? take THAT)
<3
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