Free Tricky Business by Dave Barry Page B

Sumo Boy would yell “MINE!” and grab for it with his chubby hands. Estelle, who was a good sharer, would let go of the bag and pick up another one. Sumo Boy would then drop his current bag, yell “MINE!” again, and grab for the new one.
    Fay could see that Estelle was getting tired of sharing and was just about ready to retaliate. Fay kept waiting for Sumo Boy’s mother to do something about her son’s behavior, but Sumo Mom just smiled, as though this were the cutest thing she’d ever seen.
    Fay was not a big fan of Sumo Mom. Once, while the class was developing some cognitive skill or other by playing Marching, Marching Round and Round, Fay had gotten a cell-phone call from her ex-husband, who was pissed off about a letter he got from Fay’s lawyer about being behind on his child support. Fay was marching, holding the cell phone to her ear with her right hand, holding Estelle’s tiny hand with her left.
    â€œTodd, I can’t talk now,” she whispered.
    â€œYou want another court fight?” Todd said. “Is that what you want?” Todd loved to fight. He spent considerably more on legal fees than it would cost him simply to send Fay the money he owed, but for him the added expense was worth it.
    â€œNo, Todd,” whispered Fay. “I don’t want to fight. I just want you to fulfill your—”
    â€œWell, you’re going to get another court fight,” said Todd, hanging up.
    â€œShit,” said Fay. She said it quietly, but Sumo Mom, who was marching right in front of her, heard it and turned to give her a glare.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Fay said.
    â€œThere’s no need for that kind of language here,” said Sumo Mom.
    â€œI know,” said Fay. “I’m very sorry.”
    â€œLittle children have big ears,” said Sumo Mom.
    Your child also has a big butt, thought Fay, but she said, “Look, I said I’m sorry. The kids didn’t hear anything. I’m just having a personal situation that . . .”
    But Sumo Mom, having taken the moral high ground, had turned away and was marching righteously onward. Later, Fay saw her talking to the Tot-a-Rama instructor, who pulled Fay aside after class and gave her a little lecture concerning inappropriate contexts for hostile verbalization.
    Fay had exchanged no words with Sumo Mom since that day, but she was getting close now, as she watched Estelle, having had enough, yank her beanbag out of Sumo Boy’s grasp.
    â€œMINE!” said Sumo Boy, barging into Estelle, hands out. Estelle opened her mouth, clearly intending to chomp down on one of Sumo Boy’s plump arms.
    â€œNo!” said Fay, grabbing Estelle and swooping her up. “We don’t bite, Estelle. We never bite.”
    â€œMINE!” screamed Sumo Boy, as the beanbag, still in Estelle’s grasp, soared out of reach.
    Sumo Mom was outraged. “She was going to bite him!” she informed Fay. “She was going to bite my son!” Around the room, nine mommy heads swiveled their way.
    â€œMINE!” shouted Sumo Boy.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Fay told Sumo Mom. “But your son was taking all her beanbags, and she gets . . .”
    â€œMINE!!” said Sumo Boy, pounding on Fay’s leg. “MINE!!” He hit hard, for a baby; Fay’s leg hurt. She was also getting a headache.
    â€œDo you have any idea how dangerous a human bite can be?” said Sumo Mom.
    â€œYes, but she didn’t—”
    â€œMINE!!” (Pound.) “MINE!!” (Pound.) “MINE!!” (Pound.)
    â€œThe human bite is very dangerous,” said Sumo Mom. “My husband is a doctor.”
    At that moment, Sumo Boy sunk his sharp little teeth into Fay, penetrating her jeans just above her left knee.
    â€œOW!” said Fay, yanking the leg away. Sumo Boy, suddenly unsupported, fell on his face. After an ominously silent two seconds, he emitted a glass-shattering