Every day I learn something, and let’s face it, not all lessons are happy ones.
Last night I learned that you should never take a man out who still believes the Scrubbing Bubbles guys actually exist and that somewhere in the world Prince Spaghetti is growing on trees.
Because that childlike outlook will color everything else he does.
At the breast cancer benefit we attended last night, this was on display in full force.
First an aside: No, I did not wear the dress. It turned out to be a more casual affair than that. The dress can wait.
And yes, we had fun — even reconnecting with one of Catherine’s teachers from day care who now has children of her own and can’t believe the kid she helped potty train is learning to drive and that the twins down the street whom she also cared for are now in college.
But before the reconnecting, the dancing, the raffles, the good food and fun, there was the goodie bag.
There were two on our table.
I cannot tell you what was inside, but Basil can.
And that’s because as soon as we sat down, he grabbed one and with the enthusiasm of a cake-and-ice-cream-fueled 4-year-old, he started TO GO THROUGH IT.
I was catching up with a friend, then turned around to find all the bag’s contents piled up on the table and Basil palming the last treasure inside — a pen.
I hissed at him to put it all back, prayed no one at the table noticed and spent a good chunk of the rest of the night silently shaking my head.
I can’t take him anywhere.
And no, I did not take one of the goodie bags with me. How could I?