Once I arrived to the 6th Avenue Animal Clinic in beautiful Park Slope, I got in line at the receptionist's desk and kindly waited for the lady in front of me to complete her transaction. I happened to notice the rather cute and chubby preschooler sitting nearby. He appeared to be doodling on a pad of paper as his older brother, seated to his right, became hypnotized by whatever was going on on his Nintendo DS. To the left of the young man, a older, friendly-looking gentleman was talking to a woman I assumed to be the boys' mother.
"How old is he?" asked the ol' chap, gesturing towards the young artist.
"Three," Mama said proudly.
The man began to reply, but was interrupted before he could finish his thought.
"Look, Mommy!" said the little boy, shoving his artwork towards his mother. "It's a pussy!"
What the fuck did that kid just say?!
Stifling back laughter, I looked over at the pad of paper he was showing his mother. I should have known better than to think I would have gotten clarification by investigating the drawing myself. A three-year-old's artwork has the same effect on me as a Picasso. So, for all I know, that drawing could be a cat. Or it could be labia. It was a toss-up, really.
"It's very pretty, baby. But it's called a pussy cat. Or just plain, ol' cat. Okay?" Mama was trying to do some damage control because I'm sure she noticed me turn my head and giggle.
"Yeah, Mommy. Okay. Pussy cat." He went back to his artwork and continued drawing.
At this point, it was finally my turn in line, so I approached the counter and told the receptionist my last name and what I needed. She went in the back room to fetch the cat food while I looked over at the kid again, still rather amused.
He was adding a few finishing touches to his latest work. He paused, inspected his drawing, then presented his mother with his masterpiece.
"Look at it! Look at the pussy!"
Holy shit, someone kill me. I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. And of course, this was the moment the receptionist came back to her desk with the cat food. So, I pulled myself together and did my best to redirect my attention. But Mr. George O'Keefe was too riveting and I can multi-task, so I continued to eavesdrop while paying the receptionist.
"Baby! They're called pussy caaaats!"
Mimicking his mother's inflection of the word cats, the kid responded, "Puuuussies."
If I didn't have my wallet in my hands, I would have been biting my fist at this point. I looked over at the kid's older brother and saw him smirking as he played his DS. Even though she was completely mortified, it looked like Mama wanted to laugh, too. But she knew better. The last thing you want to do is encourage a kid by laughing, especially when the kid has no idea what he's doing that's so goddamn hilarious. And bless his heart, the old man sitting next to him was keeping a straight face. Obviously, he didn't want to make the mother feel any more embarrassed than she already was.
Slightly exasperated, Mama said, "Baby. Just call them cats, okay?"
"But I like pussy." (Who doesn't?)
"Okay, then say pussy cat. But say cat, don't just say pussy, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy. Pussy. Cat. Pussy cat."
The receptionist handed me my receipt, I signed it, then took the bag of overpriced cat food from her. As I walked towards the door, I decided I must immediately text all my friends and tell them about this kid. So I paused to pull out my phone and was lucky enough to catch the finale of the best overheard conversation between a parent and child.
The boy had gotten up to sit next to his mother and show her the drawing again. "Very good. It's beautiful, baby," Mama said.
"Thanks, Mommy. You like my pussy?"
I had reached my breaking point. Thank God I was headed out the door because I did not hold back. I was laughing hysterically as I walked out on to the street, frantically texting my friends with the tale of a young man who loves drawing pussy.
that is so hilarious! I would not have been able to keep my cool....so, good job on that. p.s. you are a great story teller
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