Bottlefinger

We visited the taqueria on Saturday. LegoGuy loves the authentic Mexican tacos, and Sport wanted to try one of the 12 oz bottles of Coca Colas hecha en Mexico.

I don’t know if it’s nostalgia or the cane sugar, but damn, those Cokes taste good. I nearly chucked my can of Dr. Pepper and ordered one myself. As a kid, we used to get glass bottles of Coke down at our local ice house, along with a bag full of candy for about a quarter. We could bring those bottles back in for a 5 cent refund. It was a perfect circle of addiction. We’d spend hours looking for those green glass treasures, turning them back in at the end of the week for another sugar rush.

My kids treated these Coke bottles like a rare find. Both wanted to keep them as a collectible. Driving home, Lego was examining his in the hot afternoon sun. The next thing I knew, he had it stuck on his middle finger, jutting out like an overgrown obscene gesture.

“What on earth possessed you to stick your finger in there?” I tried to feign indignation, but it was too funny.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself.”

"Well, at least you didn't put a bean in your nose. That would be worse."

He looked so comical with that thing on his hand. Eventually, he turned it upside down and let the remaining cola lubricate his finger enough to pull it back off. This was my comic relief for the day. I couldn't stop chortling about it.

On Sunday, I got another dose of laughter. Sport, learning a new piano piece, was playing it much too fast.

"It's a waltz! If people tried to dance to your beat, they'd be doing the jitterbug." I tried to show him how two people might waltz at the correct tempo.

He gave me a look that would have destroyed the tender psyche of a weaker woman.

"Mom, stop. I really don't need to see you dancing."

I left the room so he couldn't see the amusement on my face. He was so scathing in his criticism. And hilarious.