Yesterday I refused to put Sam in diapers and Sam refused to wear his Thomas the Tank Engine underpants. So... taa-daa! Naked butt. After awhile the door bell rang. Ding-dong. Sam took off at a gallop for the front door while I yelled out to remind him about his lack of pants. When I got there a moment later, Sam and the mailman were standing face-to-face. (Technically, face-to-knee, but they were looking at each other.) Due to a freak March snow, the mailman was bundled in his snow jacket, gloves and scarf. Sam was wearing his t-shirt and cheerfully flaunting his stuff.
The mailman started to chuckle. Actually, he may have been chuckling at me as I had neglected to take a shower although it was 2 p.m; I looked like a clown. Sahara was on my hip bonking the doorframe with a measuring cup.
Sam continued to loiter around my legs in the chilly, breezy doorway as I signed some certified mail. When I closed the door, I realized that Sam had turned blue from the waist down. This discomfort notwithstanding, he still refused to wear his Thomas the Tank Engine underpants.
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