Funny Guy Friday….Sometimes the answer is no!

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Well, it is Sunday evening, and I am sitting here on the couch watching football while my little man, Noah, plays on my new iPad. Noah and I just had an almost perfect afternoon together.
     He wanted his favorite dinner, steak, so we went shopping for steak. While shopping, I bought him all of his favorite fruits and snacks. He wanted to go to Cold Stones for his favorite ice cream, cotton candy with gummy bears, so we went to Cold Stones and got him his favorite ice cream before we went shopping and before we had dinner. And get this, we did not get the small size that his mother always makes us order. We got the larger size with the waffle cone. Take that, Mommy.
     During the course of the afternoon, Noah mentioned that it had been a perfect afternoon. I corrected him and told him it had been almost perfect. I told him it would have been perfect had he not been shot in the rear end earlier in the day. That's right, Noah had to get shot in the bottom to warrant such royal treatment.
     And get this... I was the one that shot him.
     As you may have guessed, it was his mother's fault.
     Let me explain.
     The afternoon did not start off that great for poor Noah. At lunch he dropped one or two of his oh-so-subtle hints that I wrote about last week. Cheryl advised him to stop; he was not getting soda. But in his defense, all he was doing was saying that the soda looked good and that he was thirsty.
     Not sure why she reacted so terribly, raising her voice and telling him that he was not getting soda and to stop asking. He responded that he really hadn't asked. Technically, he was correct, he hadn't asked. But she went on, and, in my humble opinion, mocked the poor boy and told him that she wasn't really saying no, she was practicing saying no because she was going to say no all day. Inexcusable behavior on her part and not good parenting.
     After lunch, Noah's big brother Matthew had a friend over and they went outside to play with their air soft guns. Noah was disappointed that he could not go out and play with them, but his mother stuck to form and said NO! She may not have screamed it as my capitalizing implies, but she definitely said no.
     So Noah came back in the house and wondered aloud what it would feel like to get shot by an air soft gun. He asked me if he could see how it feels. Now his mother had been the Queen of No all day---poor boy had nothing but disappointment---and I had seen enough. Why, sure! Why not. It will only sting a little bit. So off we went.
     Matthew was initially excited by the plan and produced the appropriate weapon. Noah turned and walked about ten feet away. I took aim, and in an attempt to make the poor boy's dream come true, I fired away.
     The first shot was a glancing blow. The second shot went right between his legs, and Noah insisted that it did not hurt at all. You would think that at this point, I would have just let it go, but Noah wanted the real experience, and I was there to give it to him. Shot three found its mark.
     Matthew plays this game all the time, and he has never indicated that it hurts when you get shot. I just assumed that it would sting a tiny little bit. There were two clues that I was wrong; the first was Noah's reaction. He darted inside and was on the verge of tears. He was a trooper and hung tough and did not cry. Thankfully, I might add, because the wrath of Cheryl was imminent, and tears would have only made things worse.
     The second clue was Matthew's reaction after I delivered the near lethal shot. Dad, you are way too close. Wait a second Matthew, you sat and watched me shoot at him twice and this never crossed your mind before now? C'mon man!
     Cheryl took a look at his bottom and demanded an explanation.
     What could I say? I shot the boy!
     I thought that I would try to make things right with Noah and let him take a few shots at my rear end. The problem is that Noah is not a very good shot, and I have a small rear end. Cheryl was standing by his side, and surprisingly, she did not pick up a weapon and start firing off a few rounds at me herself. Not surprisingly, she was completely on board with Noah getting some retribution.
     I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince Noah that I am not the worst dad in the world. Noah was very kind and kept telling me that he did, in fact, ask to be shot.
     Again, technically, he was right, so I felt a little better about the whole episode, but I reassured him that it was not his fault.
     It was his mother's.
     In retrospect, I will grudgingly admit that sometimes the answer really needs to be no!
   
     Noah has asked if he can write about this. The whole experience is still etched in my mind, so I can't start telling him no until tomorrow. Here is Noah's story as told to Cheryl. Remember, he is just a seven-year-old coming off a horrific shooting. Ignore any bad stuff about me.

     The first time it didn't hurt. And then the second time, it didn't hurt. But the third time… YYYYOOOWWWW!!!!!  According to my mom, there was a welt on my bottom that looked like a donut. I like donuts. But not that one! 
     These are my parents: Here's some ice. You only have to sit on it for five minutes. After 5 minutes, it was another 5 minutes. And then another. Five minutes is a really long time.
     After the whole donut shooting thing, my dad and I went out for some ice cream. I told him I could fight through the pain, and I ate my Gummy Bears like a man. And I suggested I should sit on my ice cream. Donuts and ice cream… what a combination.  Consider them both marked as my territory.

     There you have it, right from the horse's mouth. I must say that I was a little worried that he was going to write something that was going to make me look like an idiot.  Fortunately, I think I dodged that bullet!