Air pollution

"I have to go potty," sayeth the papoose. Of course.

My daughter and I joined the moose, the goose and the papoose for a wonderful night out at the ballpark Saturday. There's something about being outside at a baseball game on what turns out to be a beautifully fair evening that's calming to the soul. "It's just so ... wholesome" quipped the moose, in between lapping up Red Ale and scratching his antlers.

I have to agree. Once the sun goes down and the air loses 5 soul-sucking degrees of heat, you can breathe clearly, relax in your chair, drink in the atmosphere, and...

"They're out of hot dogs. It's only the second inning!"

... enjoy the conversation with your kids and friends. Reticent to show off her worldly knowledge, the goose holds back that she's actually well versed in the strageties of baseball. While the moose and I gab, she's actually paying close attention to the "real" reason for attendance. As the ...

"I mean seriously, how do you run out of hotdogs?"

... er, evening progresses, though, her intelligence gives her away as the moose and I wonder about certain incidents and eventualities in the game.

Earlier, having conquered her erstwhile childhood fears, my daughter approached the local mascot, "Ozzie" and proudly presented her famous ball glove for his signature. Famous, of course, because of its destiny to catch a foul ball this night. After all, the evening really is perfect, and "wholesome" as the moo...

"They're a STAPLE for gawd's sake!
Even if there's only 2 games left in the season,
you HAVE to have them ready during the game"

Ok, ok, ok. So, perhaps not everything is perfect. See, there's this group of first-year medical buffoons that have chosen this evening to sit directly behind us, and apparently one of them simply must have a wiener. Well, perhaps I should rephrase ... he simply must be allowed to purchase said porcine/bovine/probably-equine sausage-like foodstuff for roughly 800% of it's worth on the street, and the concessioneers have run out of these delicacies. "How ROOD!" as they say on Full House, which if you happen to have an under-10 year old girl in the house is a saying that you know.

This is almost certainly what he's thinking, as it's the age he's acting. And his air pollution is interrupting my perfect communion with the -oose's! Is he even interested in the game? Are his friends? Perhaps I should...

"No, stop playing with the man's knees."

Psshtp!! (that's the drink going up my nose) OK, that's priceless ... the papoose, all of 5 calendar and 25 vocabulary years, is watching the game while gently probing and poking the knee of one of the phab physicians, so the moose, being the polite person that he is but that he cordons into the closet, is (surely) teaching the 5 calendar year old essence of the papoose some of the social norm that she's yet to digest. Good going Dad ... but too bad we couldn't just stick a Sharpie in her hand...

So as I was saying, perhaps I should ...

"So, like, I just got a text msg from
Debbie, and she's not coming.
She going out, and now she wants
to know who ELSE is going out.
Like, what do I tell her?
We don't know when this game'll be over, ya know?"

Holy sacred cheeses.

"TELL HER YOU'RE ALL COMING! RIGHT THIS MINUTE! AS SOON AS YOU'RE DONE STUFFING GASTRO-BOY HERE WITH MEAT-SHAVING-CASES FROM THE LOCAL STOP-AND-ROB!! GONNA REALLY MISS HAVING YOU BEHIND US!"

Oh, and would you be a doll and escort the papoose here to the restroom, please? She's gotta potty, and I'm thinking y'all are experts at assisting in that regard...

NOTE: No actual medical buffoons were injured in the true-life transpirings related herein. I only wish they had been. In fact, some names and order of events have been rearranged to suit the author's selfish desires. But other than those items, and the lack of hauling in a foul ball, the game and evening was superb :-)