We took the family for a little getaway in the backwoods of Alabama recently. Even though only one of the four adults present were actually Southerners, it was a true Southern getaway, complete with redneck golf, fried catfish, ketchup (there was a Southern Minnesotan among us), and directions that included words like “yonder” and “turn at the Alabama/Auburn mailbox.” (You love who you love, even when they cheer for the wrong team.) We had a big campfire and made s’mores with marshmallows the size of my fist that we roasted on these revolutionary rotating marshmallow roasting sticks too. (Can’t you just see Jackson giving a couple of these to Anna?) (Also, I highly recommend Ghirardelli chocolate squares (especially the caramel ones) alongside the requisite Hershey bars for s’mores.)
We also discovered that I have a super power.
And here’s how that happened:
Our friends were frying the catfish, and baby Buttercup was getting a little fussy, so Hubby sat down with her on one end of the picnic table bench. The boys were playing with their little friends and terrorizing all the fish in the pond, so I figured I had a minute to sit and talk to Hubby and to help placate Buttercup.
And that’s when my super power roared to life.
In retrospect, it would’ve been better if I had a superhero call. Like you know how Superman does that whoosh thing in a phone booth? Except, obviously, no phone booths at a little pond in backwoods Alabama, and my particular super power doesn’t lend itself to a flattering super suit anyway, so we can skip that part.
But I kept hearing the ThunderCats cry. You know the one, right? “Thundercats, ho!”
Yeah. That one.
In my case, the call would be, “Thunderbutt, ho!”
(This is where we recall that I was talking about going to sit next to Hubby and Buttercup on a wood bench.)
(This is also where I clarify that although I have two boys and a husband, fart jokes will be minimal on this blog.)
I walked up to the wood bench, I half-squatted, let out a call of “Thunderbutt, ho!” and then I karate-chopped the bench with my butt cheeks.
p.s. I feel an urge to clarify how I actually broke the bench, but I’m resisting, because this version is so much better. Just for the record.
p.p.s. No humans were harmed in the discovery of my super power.
p.p.p.s. Now I want another s’more.