Not that I ever turn on the television when Gus is in the room, but if I did, there's a very good chance that tonight, while Larry was at band practice, and Gus was lingering over his last bottle of the night, I would have stumbled upon the second half of a highly underrated film called Crossroads. In case you've forgotten, Crossroads stars none other than Britney Spears. And I must tell you, Gus was absolutely smitten with her. What I mean is, he WOULD have been smitten, had we not been so engaged in that highly educational dinosaur science math vocabulary thing that we were doing. Now, to Gus's credit--Crossroads does not feature Britney the Uber-Skank. Heavens, no! This is Britney in her sweet pre-Federline prime. Back when her feet were reasonably free of filth, and she was ... Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.
So Gus is watching this total piece of garbage (REFUSING to let me change the channel!), and after Britney discovers that the handsome but mysterious love interest did not actually "kill a gah," but, rather, got sideways with the law in what was (you'll never guess!) a HUGE misunderstanding, she reads him her "not a girl, not yet a woman" poem from her journal on the beach, three days later he turns it into a song, she sings, he plays, and ta-dah, they kiss on a white piano bench.
At this point, it's somewhere around 9:00, and I'm thinking Gus is sound asleep, because he hasn't moved a muscle in MINUTES.
But no.
The boy. Was. Riveted.
So moved was he by this cinematic moment, his tiny jaw had gone completely slack. I lifted him out of his chair. "Time for bed, little man." I told him. "Sweet dreams."
And never has he gone so willingly to his crib.
Sweet dreams, indeed.
So Gus is watching this total piece of garbage (REFUSING to let me change the channel!), and after Britney discovers that the handsome but mysterious love interest did not actually "kill a gah," but, rather, got sideways with the law in what was (you'll never guess!) a HUGE misunderstanding, she reads him her "not a girl, not yet a woman" poem from her journal on the beach, three days later he turns it into a song, she sings, he plays, and ta-dah, they kiss on a white piano bench.
At this point, it's somewhere around 9:00, and I'm thinking Gus is sound asleep, because he hasn't moved a muscle in MINUTES.
But no.
The boy. Was. Riveted.
So moved was he by this cinematic moment, his tiny jaw had gone completely slack. I lifted him out of his chair. "Time for bed, little man." I told him. "Sweet dreams."
And never has he gone so willingly to his crib.
Sweet dreams, indeed.
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