Monday, February 11, 2013

Two-asouraus Rex

When you take a two-year-old boy to church, you fully expect you’ll be forced to take him outside at some point to stop him from disturbing the pious masses. Most dads relish the chance. 

But the opposite is expected when you take that same child to a world-renowned honkytonk, biker bar and barbeque joint. If anything, a better guess is that you’ll have to take said child outside to protect him from the hijinks inside the bar. Clearly, nothing he could do would possibly disturb such a rowdy, boisterous and well-tattooed crowd.

And yet, today, I found myself in the vestibule of the Dinosaur Barbeque pleading with my two-year-old to stop crying so the bikers and biker-wannabes inside could enjoy their well-smoke animal parts in peace. 

He was having none of it. He wanted a chocolate milk and he wanted it yesterday. That the waitress knew of his need and was working diligently to locate and mix the milk and the chocolate didn’t matter. Chocolate Milk! Chocolate Milk! Was all he could think to scream.

Is your two-year-old too rowdy for famed biker bar?
Yes.  Yes he is.
Of course, once the chocolate milk found its way to the table and the straw into his mouth, he stopped crying. And the bulky, leather-clad patrons went back to picking the meat out of their teeth with rib bones and chasing it down with pints.

That is until the boy found a more creative way to disturb all those within smelling distance of his bottom. Who ordered the number 2. Nobody did, that’s who.

And, as planned, his diaper bag was left in the car. So, it was back through the vestibule and out to the van with him, where I did a front seat diaper change. 

I felt worst for the scores of people outside waiting for a table -- our impromptu changing station within plain view of them all. I’m sure each one of them was glad when I got him cleaned up, re-diapered and back inside.

Once our food arrived, it occupied the boy for all of two minutes – which apparently is just enough time for me to scarf down a traditional combo platter.

With the boy’s fries gone, however, he was simply done with the place. He displayed his opinion by throwing gloves and socks at other customers and saying “go home” repeatedly. And, just like at church, I was forced to take him outside again to wait for the rest of the family to finish service. 

Sometimes, it might just be easier to eat at home. Take out, anyone?

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