relent and open the door.
I expect to hear his sister is bleeding or the house is on fire.
He is standing in the bathroom doorway, feet tapping so impatiently he
almost dancing.
"Guess what? Guess who's on Family Guy tonight?"
"Spongebob?" I guess, and he frowns audibly.
"No, Mom, this is good! Guess?! GUESS!"
His feet continue their tango and I suspect he has to go to the
bathroom but I don't dare ask; he is six now, it's embarasing for his
mother to mention such private matters.
I play his game. "Better than Spongebob?! Who can be better than
Spongebob?"
He nods, feet twisting below him, and before I can compose a thought
he blurts out, "Oh my God! Mom!! Its Rush Limbaugh! Rush Limbaugh!
Tonight! On Family Guy!"
I adjust my towel and thank him with a motherly kiss on his forehead.
He looks up at me, completely still for a minute, then races away.
After that, I lock the door, turn the radio back on and get back into
the shower to finish shaving my legs.
