Monster Trucks and Me


I have never considered myself to be a monster truck kind of gal, so I was surprised when my son called us and said he had tickets for us all to see a monster truck show.

I wasn’t quite sure what to wear to a monster truck show and after I sat down in my seat I figured I was probably the only person there in starched creased jeans and worried that my gold sandals didn’t match my silver jewelry.

Attending this show with me was my husband, my son, my daughter-in-law, our seven-year-old granddaughter, our two-year-old grandson, and their two-month-old baby brother.

As you are well aware, nothing ever goes right for me, so I was very suspicious when we arrived at my son’s home before the show, and I found them dressed and ready to go. This was unheard of. A modern-day miracle. They are never on time anywhere. But for this event, they were ready.

We first stopped at a fast-food restaurant for dinner before the show. My husband and son quickly began passing out food to everyone. A basket was placed in front of me with a hamburger and French fries, so I started wolfing it down. Halfway through my sandwich is when my husband suddenly spoke up and said, “Hey, you have bacon on your sandwich! How is it that you have bacon?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just ate what you said in front of me.”

My son spoke up then. “That’s because you have my wife’s sandwich.”

“Well why did your father give me this sandwich?” I asked.

“I didn’t know the food got all mixed up,” he said.

I knew that things had been going too well, so I wasn’t surprised by this new turn of events. But what to do about it?

Smiling rather sickly, I reached in my sandwich and pulled out a long piece of limp bacon. “Sweetie, do you want your bacon back?” I asked.

“Um, no, that’s OK.” She said looking grossed out. I really didn’t know what else to do, so I ate the rest of it.

Well, we went on to the stadium to see the monster trucks. My husband was trying to hurry me up the stairs while I was stopping every other row to hand out ear plugs to unknown children. Finally, we made it to our seats where I glanced at my family down the row. All the children had on humongous earphones, including the infant who was attempting to nurse. It was downright hilarious.

Halfway through the show, my 2 year old grandson clamored over my husband to sit in my lap. I held him and cuddled him for a while, and then he wanted to go back to his dad.

About 10 minutes later, I noticed that my fingers felt wet. I looked around my chair to see what could have caused them to get damp. I saw nothing, so I turned my attention back to those noisy trucks with giant wheels.

A few minutes later, I once again felt my hand getting moist. I started to search for the origin of the wet spots on my hand, but just like before I found nothing.

Less than a minute later, I felt it again and this time I pulled up my shirt from my leg and that’s when I found it. A large wet spot on my perfectly starched and pressed jeans.

My grandson had peed on me.


I knew it! I knew that something was going to happen because everything had been going so well!

Sighing, I pulled my pants leg up a little so it could air dry and then made my husband go get a bottle of water so I could wash my hands. I really couldn’t sit there and watch a monster truck show with pee on my hands.

As I was cleaning myself, I heard the crowd roar. Looking up, I saw one of the monster trucks accidentally flip over and land on its back. It sort of looked like one of those dead armadillos you see on the side of the road. The truck’s decorative fiberglass was destroyed but at least the driver was uninjured.

And you know what my first thought was?

I would rather have pee on my hands than an upside down monster truck.