In Which I am a Big Fat Liar, but at Least my Pants are Clean

So all that stuff about posting more often?  Bunk.  Sorry about that.  And now I will reiterate my promise, because the T-ball season is officially over, which should mean that I have more time on my hands. Although t-ball's demise also means I won't be able to share stories like this one with you until at least the fall:

One of the two annoying players on the team is a boy who I shall call Dennis.  Unlike his randomly violent teammate, Dennis isn't cruel, he's just categorically incapable of listening or paying attention or doing what he's told.  And also?  He has a REALLY high opinion of himself.  Kindergarten is going to be a rude awakening for ol' Dennis. 

Dennis' exploits have included wandering off (during the game) to play on the field equipment, refusing to put down a bug in order to throw a ball, laying down in the middle of the infield and refusing to get up, leaving the field (also during a game) just because he got "bored," and resolutely ignoring anyone who tells him what to do.  I really, really, REALLY do not like Dennis. 

Last Wednesday was going to be Dennis' last game, and as we got underway he was, true-to-form, annoying the hell out of everyone and not listening to a word either I or his parents said.

FINALLY it was his turn to bat, and I told him to get ready.  He said he didn't want to hit right then, he wanted to hit last.  I told him he'd hit when it was his turn, and walked over to get him his helment and bat.

And then the smell hit me, just as Dennis said, "I need to go potty!"

I told him to run, not walk, to get his mom and hit the port-a-potty.

That's the last I saw of Dennis until our next at bat, when the entire family appeared, chalk-faced, at the dugout and his daddy made a rambling excuse about an "upset tummy."

"Okay!" I probably said in a way too cheerful tone,  "Feel better, Dennis!  BYE!"

Later, as Hublet and I pondered whether or not we were going to hell for being happy that Dennis crapped his pants at the ball park and had to leave, Hublet shook his head and said, "Wow, Dennis' father looked as if he'd stared Death in the face."

I thought about having to deal with copious amounts of Big Kid poop in a small green port-a-john in the middle of a field in Johnston County, and realized that Hublet was probably closer to the truth than he knew.