Aah, yes... Little Michael. I'm sure I did that little dude some damage.
It was 1986 and I was living in Minneapolis managing one of the restaurants in a downtown convention center hotel. My roommate was one of the bartenders in the lounge. He was obnoxious but at least he paid his rent on time. Anyway.
He had a girlfriend, a total knockout BTW, who had a young son named Michael from a previous relationship. When I first met Michael he was just beginning to learn how to walk. I thought to myself, cool, a clean slate to mess with. He was a charmer. Out going as hell and a drooler with a face that resembled Dr. Benson Honeydew. I would occasionally pass him off as mine but only when he was asleep.
Once he finally got mobile I taught him that diapers were actually hats that were very fun to wear. Whether they were clean or not. He was overjoyed. His mother was not as pleased. Especially if he decided to do this in public. I also taught him about pizza bones. Pizza bones??? Yes, pizza bones. That's the last little arc of pizza crust that you have left after you have eaten all of the good stuff. I usually just tossed them to the dog because he thought pizza bones rocked. So did Michael. Watching the dog and Michael fight over a pizza bone on the floor was like my own in-house version of the WWF. Again, his mother was less than approving. Nor was the dog. Because he got bit more times than Michael did. Michael was teething by then.
My big break came when Michael started talking. Wonderful, I thought to myself!!! Mobile AND vocal!!! Perfect!!! By then he was all smiles and cheeks and everyone who saw him wanted know who he was. His mother was constantly being stopped and asked about him. Everyone wanted to know his name and his mother tried desperately to teach it to him so he could respond. All to no avail. So I decided to take the little imp under my wing. Give him an "act" so to speak. In four days he had it down. He was ready for center stage in the cereal aisle.
So, I'm sitting at home one day and Michael and his mother come bursting through the front door and I hear my name mixed with some shouting and a lot of obscenities. Hmmmm, I thought to myself, has someone just had his first opening night??? Apparently so, by the look on his mothers face as she launched into the living room making her way for me. Yeah, she knew it was me. C'mon, who else could it have been??? It seems that they had been out grocery shopping and, of course, someone comes up and says "What an adorable little boy! What's his name?". Michael turns to this woman and smiling wide says "Hi! I'm baby Jesus.". His mother curdled. So did the elderly Lutheran woman who had been stupid enough to ask the question. As I break into peals of laughter his mother launches into me like a bunch of Enron stock holders. Up one side and down the other. She went at me so intensely that she actually started frothing at the mouth. It would seem that hell hath no fury like the mother of Baby Jesus. She didn't just threaten to kill me, she PROMISED to kill me. I promised to NEVER do anything like that again. A month later his mother and I were finally beginning to become civil to one another. Of course, by then I had taught Micheal how to eat out of the dog dish.
Yeah, I know, I should go to hell. But they don't want me. It's true. I had prepaid reservations down there in a lovely junior suite with a full mini-bar and a wonderful view of the lava pits but they cancelled on me. It seems that "management" thought I might be a bit too disruptive.
As for little Michael? Well, the last I heard he was on Death Row. Something about a suicide bombing at a lefse refinery that involved several copies of "Catcher In The Rye" and a small valise of gerbils. Who knew that his mother would mess him up this badly???
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