So This is What Linus Was Talking About?

I've given up on sleeping long ago.  Seriously.  The stress of having three children, no job and a digestive system that makes it impossible to attend social events without bringing the dog so that someone's there to take the blame for the constant questions of "What's that smell?", has pretty much made a good night sleep as rare as a non-hideous part of Seal's face.

So when The Wife informed me that for family bonding purposes, I would have to wake up at 9am, on a Sunday morning, to go to a pumpkin patch 40 minutes away, I was less than enthused.  Especially since the grocery store ONE minute away has pumpkins right there.  I mean, they're sitting right there.  Right outside.  Look, I can even take one.  See, no one's even watching.  I could take one and no one would know.  Seriously, I know the manager there.  Well, not really but I nod my head to him every time I walk in.  Okay I'm walking away with this pumpkin.  I'm doing it.  SIGH.  FINE.  I'll go to the stinkin' pumpkin patch.  But I'm still stealing this pumpkin.  And a package of cheese because we're out.

  Well, this should be fun to explain to the kids.

I should have known this wouldn't be the flawless trip when we're driving by and see what looks like an entire score of crows (that's what a group of crows is called, right? A score? That doesn't sound right.  Meh.  I'm rolling the dice.  "Score", it is) devouring a baby deer on the side of the road.  I mean, they are going to town on this thing like it's Thanksgiving at the City Mission and they just brought out the sweet potatoes.  It was disgusting.  That's when the middle child yells out:

"EWWW!!!!"

Okay, so I really don't want the little one to take note of this thing because seeing Bambi's internal organs being slurped like spaghetti really isn't an image I want in her little brain.  Not because of the damage it would do to her, but because then my night is ruined.  I mean, she's having nightmares, running downstairs, asking to be cuddled...I mean it's a real inconvenience on my evening and I won't have it.  That's when the oldest one goes:

"What?  What's that?"

Okay.  This is going to take some quick thinking.  I turn up the radio and thank God Usher's on.  I do what I do best...distract through the shameless drawing of attention to whatever it is I'm doing.  I start doing some crazy dance, the family joins in, and we pass the carcass without any more mention of the gruesome dismemberment which was going on.  Score one for Insane Dad.  Score.  Yeah, I think that's right.  

I know she didn't mean it this way, but Lady, you don't know how right you really are.

This is when things go ultra great.  I don't know if that's a phrase but I'm using it because of the gloriousness of what happened the second we arrived.  

The Wife:  OH NO.

Me: What?

The Wife:  I left the money in my other purse.

Me: What?

The Wife: I have no money.

HAHAHA!!!! We just drove 40 minutes to a pumpkin patch, out in the sticks where I'm pretty sure they're still using holes in the ground to evacuate bowels, a place where I'm 100% sure that they don't have ATMs or even take debit cards.  Woman, this is one of your best blunders yet.  I don't have my wallet, either.  So we sunk to asking our 17-year old daughter whether she had any money HER PARENTS COULD BORROW.  Thank God she didn't because I'm not quite sure being able to pay for the pumpkins would have been worth the smug satisfaction she would have been walking around with all day for being able to "bail her parents out".  That's when we did something that I'm pretty sure confirmed to these people why they have this thing so far out, away from the city.  

We begged.

Yes.  Begged.  Now bear in mind, I'm not only the only black person at this pumpkin patch, but more than likely I'm the only black person within a 20 mile radius of this place.  There are stories these scarecrows could tell that would probably turn into a great movie with Denzel Washington as the runaway negro, and maybe a Powers Boothe as the leader of the band of truck-driving psychos out to get them.  Yeah.  That would be awesome.  But alas, scarecrows can't talk, so the movie will never be made.  That would have been sweet though.

So we begged.  Well, let me reiterate.  The Wife begged.  I told her I would have nothing to do with this pathetic display that was about to happen.  The last thing that needed to happen was that in front of everybody here, the ONLY black man on the premises would be the only one begging to let us take the pumpkins and pay them back later.  I might as well have been begging for change, crack, and some shortening so I could fry some chicken.  It wasn't going to happen.  So I slunk out of sight, behind a stalk of some sort, and allowed The Wife to get it done.  She asked, and unbelievably, the people were so cool about it they gave us their address and told us to just send them the money when we could.  So we got three pumpkins with a sort of an I.O.U. thing going on. You know what, in all seriousness...that was pretty cool.  People who you don't even know, giving away your pumpkins for free.  Your livelihood.   But you're nice enough to write your address on a piece of paper to a family that for all you know could be a band of roving pumpkin thieves who pull the "I don't have cash" scam all over the area, take a bunch of pumpkins and resell them for a 100% profit.  It was touching, and quite eye-opening to know there are still people out there like this.  Nice, nice people.  

And yeah, I'm not paying for the damn pumpkins.