| Rosie and Me |
| The Parade |
| As they dropped their steamy offerings on the ground before us, the horses were the most fascinating part of the parade to Rosie and me, aged two-and-a-half, and newly potty trained. "Look!" we grabbed our mother's skirts and pointed at the large smelly mounds. Sustained conversation was not our strong point but there was no mistaking her meaning as Rosie patted her own well-padded behind with a delicate sniff and a look of self-righteous triumph. I nodded wisely, as I too realized the significance of those mute testimonials to an owner's freedom of bowel disposal. Our mothers looked at each other in dismay. They tried in vain to divert our attention. "Look," Rosie repeated. "Look, Mom. No potty!" Rosie's mother bent down beside her. "Rosie," she said "listen to the band, look at the pretty flowers." Rosie refused to be so easily distracted. "Horsies no potty. Rosie no potty?" she suggested. Rosie looked around for me. I was ten feet away clinging to the unsteady leg of an embarrassed wino. While Rosie had been obsessing with the horses, a clown had bee-lined towards me honking his red nose. I grabbed for my mother. She was out of reach. I screamed and hurled myself at the nearest knee. Rosie, an instinctive pint-sized tease inherited the clown, she laughed and flirted with him. She was welcome to him. I felt safer holding on to my little wino, his clothes covered his body, and although his nose was red he didn't honk it. And he did not produce balloons out of his sleeve. Until my mother came to the rescue I refused to be separated from my guardian angel. The shabby little drunk stood there in silent horror. It must have been many years since anyone had looked to him for protection. So, he did what any self- respecting loser would do. He pretended the situation did not exist. He pretended that there was not a frightened little girl clinging to his leg. After my mother had pried my terrified fingers from his knees, he staggered away in relief. The parade was coming to an end. Clydesdale horses came into view displaying their magnificent bodies and dumping their magnificent loads. Rosie and I were impressed. "Look," we said in unison "Look. Mom. Big poops!" copyright 2001 Brenda Ross |
| Click on links below for more Rosie Stories |
   |
| Please |
 |
| <New |