IS THAT A BRUISE OR GRAPE JAM?

About one day a week I work for a woman who sells German-language children books out of her basement. I love this job. I love packing boxes with books. I love the extra cash. I love reading the book titles in a horrible German accent.

But the main reason I love this job is because of the three little boys this woman and her husband have. Not only do they supply me with delicious treats from the upstairs (like cookies, pastries, and biscuits), they also supply me with great stories to tell you all.

This particular day, without the kids knowing I had arrived, I sneaked upstairs to do some order processing. About a half hour later I started thumping down the stairs toward the basement when the middle child Nick heard me coming. Here’s our conversation:

Nick: “Hi Mama!”
(I don’t respond)
Nick: “Hi Mama!”
Me: (turning the corner so he can see me) “Mama? I ain’t your Mama.”
Nick: (in his high five-year-old-boy-voice) “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?! I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HERE!”

He completely stopped jumping around on his little playhouse and walked towards me as if I controlled his brain with remote control. He was so amazed that I suddenly appeared. He walked right up to me and just stared up with a face of one looking at a celebrity or a lesser deity (I’ll take either one, FYI).

But as I looked down to my adoring fan, I noted how Nick looked as if he’d recently got in a fight with a jar of jam. Honestly, I couldn’t tell the difference between the various marks on his face. Some looked like little cuts and bruises while others looked like smears of grape jam.

JAM, not jelly. No, never jelly. WOOF.

- [MELLO!]