“Winnie Pooh, your shirt doesn’t cover your belly.”
I don’t know why she’s calling me Winnie Pooh? I’m Honey Bear Type. I must look like this Pooh fella. Wink, wink.
“Do you want to see my belly?” The wide-eyed four-year-old birthday girl asked.
She didn’t give me time to respond. She wanted to show Honey Bear her belly.
“And that’s my belly button. I’m not supposed to put my finger in it but sometimes I do,” she said as she slowly circled her finger around the forbidden bellybutton.
She looked up at me and her bellybutton fixation was broken. She put her hands on her hips and suddenly got a stern look on her face, “You look hungry Pooh. I’m going to get you some honey so you won’t be hungry, Ok?”
Who am I to argue with the birthday girl?
She came back with a bear shaped honey container and put it in my bag.
“Don’t forget to share your honey with Piglet and Tigger, Pooh.” She emphasized this by pointing a finger at me. The same finger that earlier was orbiting her belly button. I hope she washed it.
I AM a Hollywood Clown.
“I want you to paint a black heart on my hand Barney.”
I didn’t feel the need to correct her and tell her that I’m not this “Barney” everyone keeps calling me; I’m a Purple Dino Type.
“And I want you to paint it right here.” The future little goth girl with light brown hair, who must have been around five or six-years-old, pointed to a spot on her forearm. I didn’t have the black heart to explain to her the difference between her hand and forearm. Besides, that’s not my job. Damn slacker parents.
“Ok, one black heart, right here coming up. So how old are you?”
“I’m five and a half, Nikki my friend, is only five we’re in the same class at school I’m five and a half that means that I’m older than her she’s only five.” She told me very rapidly, as if I had no idea that five and a half is more than five.
This was the last kid that wanted “face” painting (even thought she wanted it on her forearm and not on her face) and I had to piss so bad that I could taste it.
“There you go, have fun.” Now run along so Purple Dino Type can relieve himself.
“Thanks Barney!” And with that, she ran away to show her parents the lovely black heart Barney painted on her forearm. They must be so proud.
I made my way to the kitchen and was greeted by the birthday boy, Matt who was turning five, and his mother, age unknown.
“Hey Barney, just in time. We’re getting ready to cut the C. A. K. E.”
“Barney would really like to use the little dinosaurs room before we cut the C. A. K. E.”
“Sure thing Barney. It’s this way.”
I followed her and Matt followed me.
“It’s right here Barney.”
“Thank you.” I opened the door and started to walk into the bathroom.
I heard Matt’s mom say, “Matt, you can’t go in there sweetie, Barney has to go potty and we know that potty time is private time, right?”
“Uh huh.” Pause. “Barney?” Matt pulled on the left leg of my Barney costume to get my attention.
“Yes Mat?” I said patiently while my teeth were going for a swim.
“Do you have a penis or a vagina?”
“MATTHEW!”
The look on his mom’s face was priceless. Her jaw actually dropped open. She was speechless.
Good thing Barney is really good with im-prov (those acting classes are starting to pay off and big time).
“I’m a boy Matt.”
“That means that you have a penis. Just like me.”
“Yup. See you in a minute.”
Matt’s mom put her hand on his shoulder to guide him away from the bathroom. Before they walked away she looked at me and mouthed “Thank- you.”
No, no, no…Thank you. Thank you for letting me disrespect your shitter.
I AM a Hollywood Clown AKA a Purple Dino Type.
“Don’t mention Easter, they’re Jewish!!!”
“So it’s just a birthday party?”
“Yes. Remember to do a good job, they’re my cousins.”
“I always do my best.” Duh.
I did very well, as usual, and not once did I mention that it was Easter. At the end of the party, the mom handed me a bag.
“Here you go, ‘Honey Bear.’ Lollypops for the kids…” she said excitedly.
Then her voice turned to a whisper as she finished her sentence.
“They’re kosher.”
“The kids or the lollypops?” I whispered back.
She didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did.
I AM a Hollywood Clown.
Why a “Purple Dino Type?” Well there’s a little thing called “Copyright Law.” So for “legal” reasons I am not he 6’4” dinosaur whose name starts with a “B.” I’m the 5’10” “Purple Dino Type.” Sometimes I’m also known as a “Honey Bear Type” or even a “Mr. Mouse Type.” Have fun trying to figure out who “those” are.
I AM a Purple Dino Type.
If you’re from Los Angeles you know how hard-core parents are about kids parties (birthdays, Christmas, Kwanza, Etc…). If you’re not, you’re about to find out.
And if you ARE from L.A. and have had a (insert occasion) party for your child, proceed with caution because the story you are reading may just be about you.
There are three sides to every story: Mine, Yours, and The Truth.
This is Mine.
I AM a Purple Dino Type.