Friday evening, Randel and I went to his best friend's graduation. After the ceremony, cake and punch were served while everyone stood around congratulating the graduates. Randel and I mostly just tried to stay out of the way, but we got caught up among a family with three small children. They were adorable and not shy at all.
The only boy in the family came up to me and loudly remarked, "I know you," to which I had no response. I did not know how to tell him he was mistaken, so I just went along with him.
"You do?" I asked in that voice reserved for small children you really don't know how to respond to.
"Yeah. You came to my...you came to my..." He scratched his head, clearly trying to remember just where he had seen my face. Before this information came to him, though, he was whisked away by who he referred to as his "psycho sister."
Randel and I laughed about how cute but obnoxious this little boy was, and then he returned. "I know you," he said again, as though we hadn't just been through this. "You were at my..." More head scratching and contemplation.
A couple more times he disappeared, only to reappear moments later, repeating the same thing. Finally, about the fourth time we went through this little game, he remembered where he had "seen me." "You was at my school!" he triumphantly announced.
What am I supposed to say? I definitely was not at this kid's school, but how do I tell him that? "I was?" I lamely asked.
"Yeah, that's where I know you from." And then he ran off again.
But of course, he came back, this time to tell me how old he was. "Do you know how old I am? I'm SIX!" he said, not giving me a chance to tell him that no, I had no idea how old he was.
Then he left to go get cake. A few minutes later, he returned and asked me if I wanted cake. Another time he said, "Did I tell you how old I am? I'm SIX!"
And the best part of all was when he apparently noticed Randel standing next to me for the first time.
"Who is he?" he asked, hands on his hips.
I wasn't exactly sure how to tell a six-year-old that Randel was my boyfriend (I'm kind of awkward around kids), so I said the only thing I could think of: "He's my boyfriend."
He gave a little snort, looked at Randel disapprovingly, and shouted, "Well, I don't like 'im!"
Randel and I just looked at each other and laughed, but six-year-old hilarious kid was soon back and this time said, "He's a punk."
Randel decided the cute kid was practicing his "macking" skills at an early age. So I guess I was being hit on by a six-year-old.
I don't get hit on by anyone on a regular basis, which is why, I suppose, I felt the need to share this with you, my faithful readers.
In any case, Bill Cosby would love to interview this six-year-old wanna-be mack daddy.
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