Iceskating's for big, burly, muscle-bound sissies

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We (the Brass Clan) (see previous posts) went to the Shark Tank tonight because Papa Brass is a season-ticket holder and tonight was free holiday skating for season-ticket holders and their guests. And free chips and pretzels and peanut butter cookies and rice krispie treats and other unholy and unhealthful substances that are nonetheless delicious for season-ticket holders and their guests.

Somehow it was decided that, since the ice was crowded, it would not be a good night for the Big O to learn how to skate. And since it is a well established fact that I don't see the appeal of skating, that I would sit with him and ingest the worst kind of calories. And so I did.

The Big O saw Sharkie skating around in a Santa suit and said "Arrr! Arrr!" much as he would have had he seen a lion in a Santa suit. And so I was not too resistant to Papa Brass's desire to get O's picture taken with Sharkie.

But--and here's a lesson to all parents--when a child has got a definite fear of Santa, introducing him to one with a thousand-tooth smile just ain't going to work. In fact, it is apt to make him scream and clutch you and shudder as if he is about to, well, be drug under water and devoured by a six-foot plush predator.

Honestly, I can't think of anything scarier either.

Of course, we didn't try to take a picture with O and an actual hockey player, so who can say?