08.08.11

"Excuse me little girl...." "I'm a boy..."

Tyler and I have been having this ongoing debate. In our apartment complex, there are often many children running around that may or may not be very annoying, loud, obnoxious, and rude. How could you tell I despise them?

Oh, it must be the fact that they scream at the top of their lungs up and down the sidewalk next to Jack's room as he's sleeping. Or it could be the fact that they are always in my way when I am going to and from our place. No, what I think it really is, is that they play loudly outside even when it's 11:00PM and then yell "RAPIDO!" to get to Goodwill half-off day at 6:00AM the next day. On a Saturday.

Okay, kids, you're going to wake my baby up, get in my way, and keep me up? I'll scar your little minds with loud, rambunctious, mattress mambo.

Anyway, there is this one child that I actually don't mind because this child plays nicely and at an appropriate noise level outside with our backyard neighbor's children. But there is one problem.

Tyler thinks she's a girl. I think he's a boy.

The child has long, blond hair down to it's shoulders and is a little pudgy. I can see how Tyler got confused. His budding man-boobs got mistaken for budding boob-boobs. Regardless, the banter went on and on. Tyler thought I was being mean and poking fun at the child.
(And with that last phrase I AM being mean. I purposely used the word "poking". As in a Pillsbury Dough boy poke.)

Then, this Sunday, a lady came to the door asking if we had children and if we had seen Bruce*.

"Have you seen him? Long blond hair, a little pudgy?"

After we told her no, I shut the door and gave Tyler an "I told you so" look that could bore through diamonds. The rest of the night, Tyler kept on saying over and over again, "I can't believe she's a boy! I was so sure she was a girl."

All I said was, "K'mon Tyler, what 9-year old girl wears an Indiana Jones t-shirt?"