I think pretty much everyone can agree, other people’s kids are gross. I take that back. Other people’s kids that you don’t know are ultra gross, while just other people’s kids in general are just medium gross.
I was at a soccer practice today when my four-year-old, typically a shy kid, bounded over to me with a new friend in tow and excitedly pointed out his pal to me. “Look mom! He is my friend! We are playing together!” Great. Now take your little friend away from me. I don’t know him and I can’t be sure if he’s not one of those booger-eating types. Alas, no such luck. My four year old quickly invited his new friend to sit on our blanket (Damn your suddenly outgoing nature!). Okay, I’m not super excited about this but… Gah! The new friend decides to take his shoes off. Whaaaaaat? I settle down and try to pretend I’m one of those friendly moms who passes out popsicles to the neighborhood kids rather than the mom who screams at kids to get the hell out of my garage (why are the neighbor kids always trying to play in our garage? It’s so weird. Luckily I have a good set of lungs and can scream them out). So my four-year-old doesn’t have great taste in friends, but I’m coping with it, when suddenly his new friend takes it a step farther and removes his socks. Yes. He did. He took his socks off. He took his socks off and sat on my blanket. He took his socks off, sat on my blanket, and put his dirty socks on his hands like puppets. I try to keep the dry heaving under wraps but I keep looking at his sausage feet and I am getting increasingly uncomfortable and anxious and dry-heaving. I keep looking around trying to locate his parents so they can see my discomfort with their child sitting on my blanket and playing sock puppets with his sweaty socks but no such parent seems to belong to the child. Of course not. His mother is probably sitting in a lawn chair somewhere happily not watching her child and his sweaty sock puppets. I hate her. So here I sit, entertaining this sweaty sock puppet kid, when he tells me he’s thirsty.
Sweaty sock puppet kid: “I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink?”
Me: “Go ask your mom.”
Sweaty sock puppet kid: “She doesn’t have any water. She didn’t bring any.”
Me: “Guess you’re out of luck then.”
My four-year-old with a heart of gold: “We can share! Have some of this water!”
Me: “Son, if you feed them then they never leave and never learn to feed themselves. Basic laws of nature.”
My four-year-old with a heart of gold: “What?”
Me: “Never mind.”
Sweaty sock puppet drink guzzling kid: “Glug, glug, glug, glug….”
I obviously could not drink out of that water bottle ever again, so into the dumpster it went. Goodbye $30 water bottle. Sweaty sock puppet kid who has no shame in begging just tarnished you forever and you have become toxic. It was good while it lasted.
So after the longest hour of my life, practice was thankfully over. I scooped up my less-disgusting but still fairly disgusting children and hurried out before sweaty sock puppet kid could taint anything else of ours. I can still see his gross little feet rubbing gross little feet germs all over my blanket. Maybe I will throw that blanket away as well. Probably best that way.