I’ve known ever since Shep was a pup and, yes, Vincent was knee-high to a cockroach, that Melissa’s rule is the kids can have Coke only on Saturdays. I learned that she’s serious about the rule, back in the day when I thought I could make an exception if the boys were visiting.
Ever since that day when she upbraided me, albeit gently, about the subterfuge, I’ve hewn to the rule. Until a couple of weeks back, when I fell asleep at the switch at the concession stand at a movie.
Of course, my goal at the concession stand is just to survive, getting the boys to focus long enough to decide what they want so the line doesn’t build up behind us and people start hissing at me. So I didn’t flinch when Vincent and Jack said they wanted Coke in their kiddy trays (popcorn, drink, and candy or cookie, depending on the theater), while Luke opted for a fruit drink.
I was just happy to get the trays loaded and be on our way without spilling anything, which I have done before, much to my embarrassment.
I’ve done the drill a good dozen times, often having to finish off Jack’s popcorn (Luke’s usually is too soggy because his drink often spills). On the way home, I asked Jack why he never finishes his popcorn.
“I don’t like popcorn,” he asserted mildly.
“Well, why do you always get it?” I asked.
“You never asked me whether I wanted it,” he replied.
Ba-da-bump. From the mouths of kids.
On the other hand, he HAD asked for Coke, so you can imagine when he said, a few blocks later, “Boy, Papa Mike, Mommy’s gonna KILL you when she finds out we had Coke!!!”
Imagine the betrayal I felt, because the lad looks sooooooooooo innocent while sleeping, even in Halloween attire:
Of course, he can be threatening when he's awake:
At any rate, I panicked as the additional truth soaked in that I not only had violated the rule but also had filled ’em with caffeine in the late afternoon of a school night.
I was caught on the horns of a dilemma: Should I talk him into lying — perhaps even bribe him — or hope he wouldn’t narc me out? My first inclination was the lying route, but I figured that would only plant the seed for him to become a politician or a golfer someday and fib about his sexual escapades.
So I took the high road, ushering them inside when I got them home, pushing them in the door and hollering, “I bought them Coke” as I escaped.
But like I said, you can’t count on the little rugrats to cover your tracks.
And from now on, when I feel like I’d like to buy the world a Coke, I make sure it’s a Saturday.
Speaking of, the many variations of Coke’s World commercials are classics, including this one:
In this case, I’d call upon the polar bears line, too, since I’m trying not to offend Mama Bear, because Mama knows best when to offer her offspring a Coke:
