Bad Grandma!

I should be in bed. I was in bed. For once, I’m not up to complain. I was relaxing, letting my mind wander about how awesome a dad I’ll be someday. Yes. It’s something that makes me feel good, having a little girl of my own to spoil rotten. (Just thinking about a daughter today, I do want a son as well.)

Anyway, a recent event has popped up again in my mind. I forget whether I wrote it down the first time. I was in a pizza place, Frank’s, when I noticed a rather upset little boy, maybe five years old. I saw what looked like his Grandma attempting to put his coat on. He was plopped on the floor and didn’t really feel like helping her.

I saw her pick the boy up to his feet, give him a hard spank on the ass, and say to him,

“You’re a bad boy! You’re a bad, bad boy!”

This hardly motivated the child to cooperate. I internally smacked my forehead. I smell therapy for the kid years down the line. Wouldn’t that make anybody’s Bad Grandma alarm go off?

The obvious: If me thinking of this is supposed to be a reminder of something that happened in my own youth, I simply don’t remember being treated like that. If I was ever called a Bad Bad Boy, I don’t remember any specific events at this time. But it would explain a lot of things. : D

Back to bed, I go! *hops*