Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Greasy Kid Story, Part the Third

Oh my god!!!  My new book is out!  Buy it here for a measly 99 cents on Kindle.  Or $8.50 if you are a tactile kind of person.

Okay, cheap plug over.  Back to the regularly scheduled rage.

(Removes sunglasses and puts on other, sexier sunglasses.)

Well, it's finally drawing to a close, dear reader.  My two year sojourn in the heart of darkness is coming to an end.  Hopefully not an ignoble one, but I guess we'll have to play it by ear.  It's been a great time, with the kind of adventures, wacky stories, and interesting people that make being an overseas man of mystery totally worth it.  I have already said my goodbyes and given my toasts, so what else is there?    What has been left unsaid?

I have one more story to tell, rageaholics.

One last song to sing.

I mean, not literally, because I am a karaoke machine after all, but bear with my ponderous thunder for a  moment.  It'll be worth it.  I think.

So, I was invited to share in the warm domestic embrace of the Grimsrud family on Friday of last week.  I was sitting in my classroom after school, rubbing my belly and thinking up puns to go with the name Victor, when I got a text from Johan that told me to come up and have a beer at their house.  I ran out of my chair once I read the word "beer" of course, so was halfway there when I got to the part where he said he would meet me up at the domicile in a few minutes.

I pressed on and arrived in time for Lulu to come home and greet me on the porch.  She looked at me, hesitancy writ large across her furrowed, tiny brow.

"Why are YOU here?"

"Your dad is gonna me-"

"-Come play in my room!"  

And with a shrill cackle and this weird jig type move she's been rocking lately, we were off.  

I had been in Lulu's room before, with strange results, so was wondering what odd things we would be doing.  It turned out, this time, to be relatively uneventful, at first:  she tipped out her blocks, started building a tower, and told me to help her stack her toy cars on top.  Then she showed me how the big car breast feeds the other cars (which was like watching the world's most Freudian monster truck rally) before moving on to telling me the names of all of her tiny stuffed animal doodads.

All of this, of course, was in the span of about 47 seconds.

I get another text from Johan, informing me that Eli is waiting in line to buy cotton candy (at this point I assumed they had left Congo entirely and were somewhere in Western Manhattan), and that he would be up in a bit.  He told me to grab a beer while I waited.

I told Lulu I would be right back.

She said to make sure I came back to her room, as opposed to wandering into the laundry machine or something.

A few seconds later I had returned with a delicious chilled Tembo in my hand.

We played for a few more minutes before she noticed the bottle.

She pointed.

"Where did you get that?"

She sounded either worried or dizzy.  At that age it's hard to tell.

Before I could answer she reached out her still extended finger and touched the label.

"That's Papa's juice!"


For those who didn't want to read all of that, here is the same story, in pictorial form:

Lulu, did you drink Papa's juice?

Where am I?

Still greasy.

And that is my final Congo tale, dear reader.  I leave the country on Tuesday, so will not be able to get back in touch with you all for a bit.  Do not fear, however, for I have much planned this summer: I am going to Vancouver, New Mexico, Las Vegas to watch an Impact Wrestling TV Taping, New Jersey, Iowa (to have dinner with Ric Flair, no biggie), Mallorca (because who could stay away from this?), and Scotland before finally starting my new gig in Cairo.  So, presumably, I'll have at least one or two good stories to tell throughout the summer.

See you in a few weeks, or whenever I get a chance to leach off of someone's computer!