Say no to crack

There was a great snowstorm in Boston two weeks ago. I know because I was in it. That wasn’t really a lot of fun, but a couple of days later, it was time to go sledding.

And when you go sledding, you need to dress accordingly.

Not like I was originally dressed: in a long coat, jeans, baseball hat, no gloves, and loafers (with no socks, naturally, because that’s just my thing).

A friend of mine made me borrow his boots (but I turned down the socks), sweat pants, gloves and a jacket. The pants were nice, but so were the jeans I had bought the day before at the Burlington Mall, my new low-riding jeans which I naturally had to wear under the sweat pants.

The kids were almost buckled up in the back seat. Almost, almost, I was reaching out, trying to make my son’s seat belt click, but it was hard. I was crouching, reaching, making all kinds of noises and just generally struggling with the task.

My friend’s two-year-old daughter was sitting in her seat, taking it easy, watching me sweat as I took a break.

Then she looked at me, pointed at my, um, lower back area, and said to no-one in particular:

“Butt”.

Always funny.

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