Volun-tears

So I was fortunate enough to be given the weekend off for the first time in 5ever. But my psycho worker self decided that it would be a fun idea to take two kids to the Washington Auto Show on my own dime. I'm a saint, I know.

I immediately regretted that decision.

Because the event was in DC, we had to take the metro. Boom. Thirty bucks immediately gone. Whatever. I'm still rolling in my Christmas bonus. Plus, I prepacked a lunch so I won't have to buy food. Back to the metro. The kids literally acted as if they were plucked from the Amish country and placed on a spaceship. Booger (the 5-year-old) went from pole to pole, wriggling his body as if he were expecting to pay off his college tuition, and Sarah Jr. (the 9-year-old) sat in the corner, hyperventilating. And then there's me, trying not to stare at the cute college co-ed. We managed to make it out alive and the metro dropped us off right in front of the convention center (praise da lawd).

We had fun looking at the different cars, and the kids enjoyed pretending that they were just as bad drivers as their beloved nanny (cute -_-). But of course, the munchkins got hungry. Thankfully, I was wise enough to bring Ritz Bits and cookies because I was SO not spending 5 bucks on a bag of air that happens to have a couple chips in it.

All was well until we went to ride inside a Fiat. The car was cool, the ride was NOT. Apparently, Booger's overindulgence in Ritz Bits led to a flatulence problem. Once strapped in the 90-degree mini car, Booger let one rip. For 5 minutes, we were trapped inside a butt gas chamber, making the driver forget her lines, and me forget how to breathe. Even better, once we were set free, Booger yells, "I PASSED GAS IN THE CAR!" Lovely.





Clifford is dying inside



Booger continued releasing the Kraken throughout the day, even when he met Clifford the Big Red Dog (who couldn't wait to put the stanky child down).

By 1 pm, I was done, I didn't even want to check out the luxury cars because I had been worn out. Back on the metro, Booger went back to his pole dancing and Sarah Jr. was asking a stranger if he knew how many people died in train accidents each year.

When we finally arrived to my house, I was done. Done with the rancid farter and DONE with the panic-stricken mini me. At least I thought I was when Booger hugged me and whispered, "I guess I'll love you for a few more days, Sarah." Oh, and it doesn't hurt that the mother gave me a 50 for my troubles.

I guess there should be a moral to this story, but I can't remember it because I'm still reeling from Booger's booty spray. So for now, on to the next job.