Boys Only

As I sat in the hallway outside my son's speech class a group of three boys waited for their turn with the speech teacher. She was running overtime and the three boys were growing restless waiting their turn.

One boy stuck both of his arms out and noted, "These are missiles!" and then produced a mantra of automatic riffle sounds like only the truest of boys could produce. My lips flutter into a wet heap and resemble the noise emitted from an injured cat when I attempt to replicate a machine gun in full action. People get wet. It's not pretty. I'm not a boy.

After the war reenactment grew dull one of them blew his hot, moist, afternoon breath toward the other two and asked, "What does it smell like?" The smellers began guessing in hopes of arriving at the correct answer. "Gum?" "Nope." "Cheese Puffs?" "Yes! Your turn!" To them this was fun. It was a puzzle of sorts, trying to guess what the other had recently eaten. Neither of the other two boys waved their hand in disgust, but instead, leaned closer toward the hot breath in hopes of gaining a better grip on the permeating smell.

Girls don't play the "Smell my Breath" game, ever. Never. And, most girls are horrible at car, gun, prowling animal, and bodily function, noises. Boys rule in that department. Who said that boys and girls are the same? Someone who was blind, very hard of hearing, and had a poor sense of smell.