First, the treat

Friends of ours had their annual Halloween party the other night. The usual suspects were there, and all of our six hundred kids. In a marital coup, I actually persuaded Patrick to wear a costume. We folded and pinned a tablecloth around him like a giant diaper and dropped a couple of onions down the back so it would sag appropriately (his touch, not mine). When we arrived at the party there was a brief game of charades while our friends caught on to the concept: PARTY POOPER.

He kept it on for about five minutes after that, during which time we were standing around with the kitchen crowd, exchanging small talk. One of the kids wandered in, carrying a plate of cookies.

"Hey," Patrick said, in that overly-bright tone of voice adults often use with children. "Do you know what I am?" To make it easier on the kid, I gestured gameshow hostess-style to my husband's rear end.

The child in question, seven years old with enormous brown eyes like the waifish kitties in those 1970s velvet posters, looked at me and then back at Patrick. "An ass?" he said.

***



Speaking of kitties, I wish I'd had the presence of mind to play it straight with the guy at the liquor store earlier that same evening, when he ventured, "Going to a party, huh?"

I could have just stared back blankly, my cat ears and blackened nose twitching. Or burst into tears, because he'd so cruelly mentioned... you know, (sob) my tail.