The Boys' Table

On Tuesday Monkey had four baby teeth pulled. I’m not sure why I didn’t realize this would have a significant impact on his diet. Maybe because at the beginning of this week I could only spare brain cells for my novel, WHICH IS DONE!

Anyway, back to Monkey. Except for the back molar on each side, he has no grinding teeth in his upper mouth. The following is a list of foods he will eat, in these, the most trying days of his existence so far:

1. mashed potatoes
2. pudding
3. applesauce
4. jello
5. ice cream

He was inconsolable Tuesday night, knowing he’d have to go to school the next day, until I promised to meet him for lunch and bring the required five food groups.

That is how I ended up sitting at "the boys’ table” in the school cafeteria. On bean burrito day.

There are things women should not have to endure. Bean burrito day with fourth grade boys tops the list. Right up there with being allergic to chocolate and being weighed in front of a panel that includes Angelina Jolie, your high school boyfriend, and your mother-in-law.

As the boys crashed into their seats, lunch trays wobbling in their hands, I noticed bigger than usual grins on their faces. Whispers, punctuated by highly descriptive words, spread from one end of the table to the other. Then delighted laughter erupted as one buzz-cut boy took his seat. But soon after his arrival the other boys pulled their shirts up over their noses. The fact that they continued eating in this position is a tribute to male ingenuity. And Tide with Bleach.

I must’ve looked worried. Or horrified. One boy surfaced from his shirt and told me matter-of-factly, “He has a tendency to let really stinky ones.”

I immediately felt for Buzz Kid's mom. I mean, when your son can intimidate a table full of accomplished farters?—that’s serious.

Needless to say, I gave up trying to eat the salad I’d brought and all but spoon-fed Monkey in my haste to get the pinto outta there.

That night I related my experience at the boys’ table. Monkey informed me that the kid who gave me the skinny on the stinky was the General of the Boys, having been elected to this enviable position by his peers.

Apparently his duties can be summed up in two words: Torture Girls.

Naturally this led to a discussion of peer pressure and whether or not it's right to torture girls just because your friends do. (If you are unclear on this subject, you are probably reading the wrong blog.) Finally, Grandma asked Monkey, “If the general jumped off a cliff, what would you do?”

Monkey looked at her and said, “Get a new general.”

I’m hoping the positions of General of the Boys and Chief Officer of Flatulence never become available. In Monkey’s case, neither campaign has home support.