Why Fatty Avoids Psychics

Notice Magoo in the back; she is listening to Mahna Mahna off of an iPod
(and holding both speakers up to her ears).

Last Thursday night, one of our local Relay for Life teams had a fundraiser. For $5, you could drop the little snot nosed hellions off at the school gym at 6 PM, to watch a movie and indulge in the concession stand. A very sweet friend had invited the boys to come over after school, so I worked late. When I picked them up at 6 PM, they had not had dinner but they had eaten their fair share of brownies with chocolate chips added. By the time we got Goozie Magoo picked up and some money out of the cash machine ("What do you mean you don't have any money? Just go to an ATM and get some like everyone else!"), I dropped them off at 6:30, handed them each $5 for the food stand, and mumbled something about buying a hot dog or something else that would make for a...decent...um, something approaching decent...um, okay, crappy but passable dinner.

At 7:55, I arrived back to pick them up (5 minutes early! Ha! I AM a good mother after all!), and Rufus came bounding out the door, looking like a squirrel on crack, and brandishing a half-full can of Big Red. You know that Big Red is loaded with Caffiene, right? What you also don't know is that my one success as a mother is that my kids don't drink Cokes of any sort unless they get them at other people's houses/parties. I am too cheap to keep them in my house.

Fatty to Boudreaux: "So what did you do for the last hour and a half?"

Boudreaux: "We watched most of the 'Mr. Magorium's' movie..." (you expect me to know how to spell that?!?)

Fatty to Rufus, who is partially foaming pink at the mouth: "And what did you do?"

Rufus: "Guzzled Big Red and chased women."

Boudreax: "That's his second Big Red, and I saw him wrestling some kid on the top bleacher."

Do you know why I don't go to a psychic? Because I don't want to know what's coming...