When I was in kindergarten, I told my mom I wish she would have written on the registration forms that I was allergic to lima beans. I wasn't, of course, but considering I'm about as finicky as my son, I desperately wished I was allergic to them. It seemed we had lima beans every day in kindergarten and Mrs. Nicely (true sarcasm in that name...), who had eyes in the back of her head, made us eat three bites of everything before leaving the table for story time. Needless to say, I rarely made it to story time...
Fast forward...
Jacob and Brian went to Six Flags one night while we were in Texas. The first thing they did was get on a roller coaster. One with no loops, per Jacob's instructions.
He hated it. He cried the whole time. (He is NOT my son, apparently.) Brian called me to tell me that Jacob was ready to come back to the hotel. I vetoed that option, as the tickets were 50 bucks a piece.
They did enjoy the rest of the evening, I think, and rode rides not resembling a roller coaster. The night ended when Jacob got too cold from getting soaked on a water ride.
On the shuttle ride back, Brian asked Jacob what he would do when his best friend Garrett called to go to Carowinds and ride roller coasters.
Jacob said, "I'll just tell him I'm allergic to roller coasters."
Apparently, he IS my son after all.
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