Boys are Gross

The other night I took Will to his lacrosse practice.  Lacrosse practice is like manna from heaven for that kid.  Serious bliss.

As we walked across the complex to the car, I grabbed his lacrosse bag (it's almost as big as he is) to help him out.  He was the one who'd been running around for the last hour and a half.  I'd been running errands and killing time.  He falls behind me, then runs up to me and presents me with...

...his cup.  Yes, that cup.

Reflexively I shoved it away, and though I was too shocked to speak (I did manage to sputter some unintelligible consonant sounds) he answered, "but Mom it was killing me."

"Will, you can't take it out HERE on the FIELD!  Couldn't you have waited until we got to the car?"

"Mom it was KILLING me.  No one saw."

In front of God and everybody.  I looked around at the hundreds, literally hundreds of boys ranging in age from 9 to 18 exiting the fields.  And their parents.  And, in some cases, their siblings.  At his OWN siblings, including his sister.  Then I looked up at the brilliant, blinding stadium lights that had the complex lit up like the sun even though it was nearly 10:00.

There are no words.

Turns out, he was trying to put it in the bag, not hand it to me.  Well, thank God for small miracles.

It's still in the bag.  I shudder to think of it.  What to do with it now?  

Come and get him ladies, he's all yours.


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