And now I can’t go back to Barnes & Noble

I blame his father.

The morning was hectic to begin with.  I had a meeting of the 2011 Tucson Festival of Books – Romance Committee at 10am.  We meet at at the little cafe area at a Barnes & Noble that is thankfully not far from my house.  My Honey was trying to make breakfast before I left and, just before I walked out the door, I inhaled scrambled eggs and a piece or two of bacon. 

I made it to the meeting just in time – or at least I wasn’t the last one there, which I consider a victory.  I warned the rest of the committee that My Honey was going to Phoenix to catch a Diamondback’s game so he would be handing Sassy and The Bandit off to me on his way out of town.

I encouraged them to talk quickly and hit the high points early, because by the time they got there, all hell could break loose.  I’m sure they didn’t believe me.  Well they do now.  I assure you.

At first, things went well.  I sat them at the next table and they played with some quiet toys for about 15 or 20 minutes.  In all reality, that was a phenomenal performance but, after then, they got a little squirmy.

Finally, I agreed to allow them to go to the children’s section alone.  I debated it for a number of reasons.

1.  They would be alone.  They might really impress me, or I might hear an announcement over the loud speaker looking for the parent of the children that just set fire to the Sesame Street display.

2. I’m leery of strangers.  What Mom isn’t?

3.  They would be alone.  See #1.

I told them they had to hold hands and NOT leave the store under any circumstances.  And then I turned them loose with a threat and a promise of a bribe.  Go ahead and judge me – I’ll wait.

They did pretty well.  At first.  But you saw this coming didn’t you, Dear Reader?  I went to check on them once, and I was thrilled beyond measure to see them sitting on a little bench together.  Sassy was reading him a book.  I complemented them.  That was my first mistake.

I ran back through the store to my meeting without missing much of a beat.

One of the ladies from the committee asked, “Where are your kids? Oh, there they are.”

I turned my head and it happened like slow-motion:  First Sassy came into view and, behind her, I could see The Bandit’s head bobbing along behind.  Just as his whole body appeared, his shorts fell down around his ankles.  Everyone in the cafe broke out in peals of laughter.  I launched from my seat and yanked them up, lifting him from the floor a good eighteen inches, but it was too late. 

He’d heard the laughter. 

I did the whisper yell in their ears and told them to go back to the children’s section while holding up his pants and read stories. I promised to be done shortly.  They disappeared again, but not for long.

That little tableau repeated itself two more times.  By the third time, he was running half the length of the store in abbreviated little steps, his shorts around his ankles, his Batman underpants proudly displayed.

Each time he was greeted with laughter from the crowd and vehement hissing from his mother.  He grinned from ear to ear, thrilled to be the center of something so very amusing.

Finally, the committee took pity on me.  “Honey,” our co-president said to me, “all we’re gonna do next is plot what panels and workshops are going in what order.  You don’t need to be here for that.”

I didn’t need anymore urging.  I took my exhibitionist home forthwith.