Susan Senator

Nat came bounding off the bus full of piss and vinegar. He was hopping around, right away talking about Ben’s lunchbox. He always checks Ben’s lunchbox when he gets home, but today he was loaded for bear. There was going to be trouble, no matter what; I could tell just by the way he exploded off the bus. Today he hated the fact that Ben had brought an unopened juice box back home and that I wanted to save it for tomorrow.

We had an argument about it. He got so upset that he raised his arm to his mouth but he did not bite it. He listened to me, and hopped around, repeating, “Save it for lunch tomorrow, save it for lunch tomorrow.”

So I said, “That’s right, Nat!” (Phew, that was easy.)

But he, apparently, had only been giving me lip service. He couldn’t stand it. “Frow it away, frow it away!” Bounce, bounce, bounce.

I said, “Nat, no! That is wasteful! Please don’t throw it away! Let me save it for tomorrow for Benji!”

“No wasteful. No wasteful! Frow away juicebox!”

I said, “I can’t believe you are doing this on my birthday!” And I would not look at him. A little Jewish mother guilt never really hurt anyone — just ask Dr. Freud.

He got very quiet. After a moment he said calmly, “Save it for lunch tomorrow.” My heart blew up bigger than the Grinch’s at Roast Beast time. Oh, Nat, I love you!!!!!!

“That’s right, Nat!”

We sat down at the table and he ate his ice cream, top speed. It was no good. He was just too upset about it.

I got an idea. I said, “Unless — Nat, do you want to drink it yourself?” That would get rid of the damned juice without wasting it. A pyrrhic victory, but a victory no less.

He leaped up. “Yes!” He whipped out the juice box and popped open the straw, pierced the container, then ran over to the sink shouting, “Dump it in sink! Dump it in sink!”

“Oh, Nat,” I muttered. “Drink it! Don’t dump it!”

Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. Like a very long piss, Austin-Powers style.

Sigh. “Did you at least drink some of it?” I asked with a tired voice, not even looking up as he rinsed out the sink very thoroughly, destroying all evidence of juice.

“Yes,” he said.

I am out of juice, but you gotta love the guy’s logic and perseverance (you decide which I mean).