We don’t go out to eat much. In the interest of common decency, we tend to spare the outside world from the onslaught that is three boys surrounding a table. ‘Cause it’s a fucking shit show. And that’s just what happens in our house. We have doors there to separate our insanity from the general population of random people walking the earth.
But sometimes, even common decency gets thrown by the wayside, and I find myself texting the hubby, “Can we please go out to eat tonight?” And he’s all, “Sure. Somewhere classy.” And I’m all, “Of course, I’m a lady.’
And that’s how our family of five ends up at Hooters.
After we had finished our classy and – obviously – fancy dinner, my husband paid the bill, grabbed the toddler, threw him on his shoulders and walked out the door. That left me with the older – and usually – more manageable two. As we walked to the parking lot, these boys were just giving each other the business. Like, way too much hitting and kicking, as far as I was concerned.
In a massive attempt to redirect this borderline insanity, what popped into my mind was the old childhood song my mom used to sing to my brother and me, Little Bunny Foo Foo.
So there we are, in a Hooter’s parking lot, and I start to sing, “Little Bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head.” That’s when I smack my 10-year-old upside the head as he and his brother laugh uncontrollably.
“More, Mommy,” screams my 5-year-old.
“And along came the good Fairy, and she said, Little Bunny Foo Foo, I don’t like to see you, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head.” This time, the 5-year-old got the smack.
By then, we’d finally made it back to our car. And the kids wouldn’t stop singing Little Bunny Foo Foo.
“Mom, how does the rest of the song go?”
“Yeah, look it up on YouTube. Everything is on YouTube.”
They’re right. Everything is on YouTube.
And Little Bunny Foo Foo is a homicidal maniac.
I don’t think anyone in the house is sleeping tonight.
Author: Phil Magnini