Mmmm. Costco.

A couple of days ago I took Lucas to Costco. We bought a few necessities, such as a 30-pack of beer, a 30-pack of paper towels, 45 pounds of kitty litter, a 45-pack of lunchbox-sized packets of cookies, three boxes of almond milk, a drum of coffee and a monster box of Goldfish crackers. There was a good deal on plasma TVs, but I passed on those.

After checking our loot, we hit the food counter for lunch. I bought us a quarter-pound hot dog, a giant slice of pizza and a large Sprite for $3.47. We settled in at a picnic table that inexplicably had an umbrella. We enjoyed our lunch and people-watched. Then we left, where Lucas was in charge of handing the door man our receipt. The door man drew a smiley face on the back and handed it back to him.

As we’re driving home, Lucas burps. And it stinks of this giant hot dog. “Ew, Lucas!” I said. “What a hot dog burp!” He laughed and a little while later he did it again.

The rest of the day, every once in awhile, I would smell Costco hot dog when Lucas was nearby. I’d always call him on it and he found it hysterical. It was truly gross.

Later in the evening, Lucas got ready for bed. He took his bath, put on his jammies, we sang his songs and he went to sleep. A little while later, I heard him calling. I went to his room and he mumbled that he had to go potty. I led him down the hall, and he stumbled, still pretty much asleep, to the bathroom, where he put up the seat, pulled down his pants and ripped the most unbelievable buster known to man.

“I farted,” he said, eyes still closed. “I farted that hot dog. I farted that old greasy hot dog right out of me.”

Then he finished his business, pulled up his pants, flushed and sleepwalked himself back to bed.

 

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