“More hard-core than you fatty!” He responds. Good! Clearly he has his cocky wrestling persona down already! This is going to be incredible!
“Hey! You want to come over and wrestle with me?” Pepe is strangely silent, although you hear a certain rustling about in the yard. He’s only six, so it’s understandable that his attention span is not likely to last long enough to respond to a three sentence conversation. You run inside and grab your laptop, bringing it onto your hammock in the sun is a beautiful decision. You whip off your shirt, soaking in the sun. The glory of this day astounds the mind! You begin to compose a proposal letter to Pepe’s parents, explaining your intents to dominate the NOW league, and how you need someone to practice pretend violence on, and how the manic energy of a 6 year old is likely to be the perfect counterpoint to your serious lawyer character’s devastating moves. In the midst of your compositional genius, you get a rush of inspiration, and deciding to forego the wasting of precious paper (a delicately diminishing resource, as you were taught in school by a professor who looked strangely similar to your currently brewing character), you race over to show Pepe’s parents your letter on your laptop screen. As you rush blindly across property lines, you fail to see the OPP cruiser parked there, or the pair of potent police officers who viciously slam you to the ground. Unfortunately for you, your testosterone did in fact kick in, and grew an impressive moustache, which, when mixed with your loud public offer to roll around half naked with their 6 year old child, came off in a less than socially acceptable fashion. They cuff you, and toss your sorry carcass: busted nose and all; into the back of their cruiser. As you fall towards the door lacking an inside handle, you ask yourself, “What did I do wrong? Why don’t they teach shit like this in university?”
FACE PALM!
