With Jared Jones
Terre Haute: from the French meaning 'family fun.' So where better to visit Bogey Bear's Family Fun Center? And this week, Beulah and I had our own little family. My brother Lars was rushed into the hospital for an emergency liposuction—which is quite rare, but when you get your ass wedged into the seat of a stolen cherry picker, there's only one way out... and it ain't pretty—so I was left with the charge of my spritely nephew Li'l Lars. This made Beulah quite happy, as she herself was cursed with a uterus the size of a walnut and could not bear fruit. So we strapped Li'l Lars into the Prius and it was off to Indy!
Over the rolling plains of corn, Beulah and I really caught a glimpse into picket fence family bliss. We sang songs, played games and threw up violently from the stench of Li'l Lars' soiled Huggies. This is where family livin' got hard. I had never changed a diaper before and Beulah, still reeling from the volunteer drug study in which she had participated and feeling the ill effects of what could only turn out to be a new prescription medication to cause temporary blindness and uncontrollable tit-sweating, had no hand-eye coordination to speak of. We would have to resort to extreme measures.
We pulled aside at a gas station in Judyville. We fastened Larsy to the roof of the Prius, doffed his diaper and drove non-chalantly through the car wash. We may have to come up with a reasonable explanation why he now has a glossy sheen about him—carnauba wax can really bring out the luster in a three-year-old's skin—but he seemed to be having a blast. By the third time through, he seemed to have had enough and we were back on the road to Terre Haute.
By the time we finally reached Bogey Bear's, Beulah had had enough of rides and, instead, parked herself right at the funnel cake stand, where she proceeded to inhale funnel cakes like so much Peruvian flake. This was no shocker, of course, after the infamous night back in 1998 when she devoured an entire Dumpster full of day-old crullers to rescue the endangered child trapped beneath them. Of course, when she reached the bottom she discovered it was not a child, but rather our former algebra teacher Mr. Swank who had taken up residence ( and bathroom ) in said Dumpster, but that's really for another column.
Lars and I had a blast twirling on the ladybug ride and swinging endlessly on the swings. A slick, waxy baby is a difficult thing to secure in an amusement park ride, as we discovered when Lars flew clear of the Tilt-A-Whirl and had to be retrieved from behind the log ride where he had fortunately landed on a passed out Beulah, soft and pillowy from ingesting seven pounds of funnel cake. Handy tip o' the week: If you are bringing a small child to the fair, don't run him through the car wash first. I know it generally goes without saying, but it happens to us all. In my family anyway.
That's it from Terre Haute. For more fun, go to www.bogeybear.com . Join us next week ( sans the slippery little shitbox ) for another fun-filled daycation!
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