Her Name is NOT Chicken Butt

Recently Hannah and I visited one of my favorite places in town: the public library. Not only do I find free material to fuel my fascination with all things written, I get to enjoy my own little social hour. This particular evening provided comedy hour as well, courtesy of Hannah.

Hannah stood near the computers with a pack of other children. One of the kids, a classmate of hers, had a cell phone and was reading a text out loud that included the words chicken butt.

Immediately Hannah grabbed her tush and said, "Hey! Do not call me chicken butt!"

Startled, the little boy pointed to his cell phone and said, "I didn't call you that. It says chicken butt right here."

Hannah actually gasped, grabbed her butt again and said, "My name is not chicken butt." Everyone within earshot started chuckling. "Stop calling me chicken butt!" The chuckles became muffled laughs.

The poor kid tried to remedy the situation, but only made it worse by saying, "I'm not calling you chicken butt."

For whatever reason, Hannah didn't understand his explanation. Grabbing her butt again, she said, "Do NOT call me chicken butt! Call me Hannah!"

Between Hannah's repeated tush-grabbing, her obvious misunderstanding of the boy, and the juvenile humor of the term chicken butt, everyone burst into laughter.

And being the sensitive mother that I am, I just said, "Aw. I'm sorry. Come here, my little chicken butt."

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Boy, have I missed blogging. I've decided that instead of giving blogging up for Lent like many do, I'm going to take it back up again. Over the next few days I'll be doing some catch-up posting...all the way back to Halloween and earlier. Ah, catharsis.