Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Gross Boys in Training

Next time you’re visiting your 20-something brother and are horrified by the state of his refrigerator, or your husband shares a vivid description of his most recent bathroom visit, don’t wonder why men are so disgusting. Know that there are training camps all over the suburbs of Washington where the youngest boys are schooled in all that’s fetid and repulsive. These camps can be disguised as anything…an innocuous-looking soccer practice, a run-of-the-mill Cub Scout troop. I discovered an underground camp on Sunday, in the guise of a birthday party for a 6-year-old boy. My own two boys, ages 6 and 3, were invited.
Among the party activities?
Moon bouncing
Chasing each other around the yard yelling “aargh” while brandishing foam swords (a pirate theme was happening)
But most popular was the Competitive Grossness event (boys’ 7 and under). To wit:
• Who can guzzle a Sprite and belch the loudest? (this didn’t reach the heights they were aspiring to, since none of the mothers were willing to allow more than one Sprite, even in the interest of science)
• Who can arm fart the loudest? (turns out none of them…they pumped with vigor but couldn’t produce sound, so they made up for it by blowing raspberries while arm-pumping. I don’t know what any of you might have been doing on Sunday, but I feel fairly certain that no one among you was spectator at a simulated arm-fart competition.)
• Whose feet are stinkiest? (They were looking for a grown-up judge, but found no takers so they had to settle this internally. I’m not sure how my own team fared.)
All pretty tame, but remember, these are LITTLE boys. I shudder at the thought of the atrocities and excesses that await when they join the 8-12 demographic. I distinctly remember the boys in my classes in Parochial school competing for “lunger” distance, (if you don’t know what a “lunger” is, then trust me that ignorance is bliss), and the competitive farts were not of the arm variety. I might need to construct and move into a separate wing of the house when they reach that age.


Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein said...

Man I miss the days when I could be all gross and not have to worry about it.

CDP said...

Ha! I bet you're a trainer in one of these secret camps...are you a Big Brother by any chance, or a volunteer coach in a youth sports league? I'll be watching you very closely, Dr. Monkey, very closely indeed...

Whiskeymarie said...

Those events sound strangely like a night out with my girls.
I probably shouldn't tell people that.

CDP said...

I have seen your work, Miss WM, from the hair in the drain photographs to the vivid descriptions of the rotting food in the walk-in after the power failure...but I keep coming back, don't I? Hmm, maybe the whole grossness thing is only 1/2 nurture, and 1/2 nature. Perhaps my advanced studies in Psychology will reveal more.

FranIAm said...

Oh my! I always hated the arm farts. When I was in the second grade a boy named Allen Dalton used to sit next to me and do that all day long. Yuck.

My husband's 11 year old daughter thinks fart jokes are the funniest thing ever.

I do predict this will change within the year!

FranIAm said...

And hey- thanks for the shout outs and blog support today!

Much appreciated!

CDP said...

You too, Miss Fran! And I wonder if Mr. Dalton is related...Dalton's my maiden name (the D in CDP)

FranIAm said...

Freaky Friday... Somehow I knew you were going to tell me there was a Dalton in your name.

Go figure!

CDP said...

That is freaky!

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