The Dictator is drawn to trouble like a moth to a freaking flame.
The Hormone King plays travel baseball from July-December. This means that twice a month, we spend a full weekend on some sort of bat and ball facility, somewhere in Southern-ish California.
Like, the whole weekend.
Needless to say, The Dictator is generally bored to snot and willing to go to any lengths to amuse himself on these weekends. In all fairness, he is stuck on a baseball field for 8+ hours a day, so I'm not saying I don't get it, because I do. Holy shit, do I.
At one of our last tournaments, The Dictator disappeared for a bit. As Mother of the Year, I didn't feel it necessary to go look for him. Usually he's just brawling with little boys for their quarters or taking candy from the friendly man in the van with no windows looking for his puppy.
He wandered over a few minutes later and this is what he looked like:
And that's just his feet. The rest of him looked like this:
He was totally Pigpen from Charlie Brown.
His explanation? "We found mud!" Really? Never would have guessed.
I begrudgingly dragged him to the bathroom to clean him up. I was about 1/2 inch into the cleaning process when I realize it was utterly, totally, completely pointless. I threw away his socks and let the mud dry, praying to the Tide & Shout gods to throw me a freaking bone with this one.
I thought about getting mad, but seriously- it's mud and he's a boy. And a Dictator boy, no less.
A better (and messier) combination never existed.