Put Me In, Coach.

Me and ‘Gi,’ my 15-year-old-daughter, have a Wednesday morning tradition. (For anyone who just broke into a sweat because I didn’t write “Gi and I,” you’re gonna be ok… it’s fun to put fork on the right sometimes;)

On Wednesdays she starts school an hour later, and it gives us time to stop at The Coffee Bean for her “Winter Dream Blah, Blah, Blah,” and my boring house brew ‘with room.’

Mr. Big, our Boston Terrier, is my co-pilot on the school runs every morning. He is flawless in his purpose to sit on laps and calm any pre-school anxt – mine or theirs.

I give a whistle as we walk out the door, and ‘Big’ rouses himself from whomever’s pillow his butt had graced the night before, prances into the hall with his jowls flapping, and a SNORT announcing each step downstairs.

Once outside, he efficiently takes a pee on the corner of the house – “this is mine,” then the truck tire, “also mine” – before hopping into the car to continue his beauty rest on whose ever lap will have him.

After the Coffee Bean stop last Wednesday, Mr. Big stared anxiously out the window of the truck, awaiting Gianna’s return to the shotgun position of the school taxi, so that he could settle himself in her arms. Gianna put her iPhone on the seat in-between her legs, and motioned for Big to climb aboard.

For the 10-minute ride from The Coffee Bean to the High School, we indulged in warm sips and giggles at the dog-porn noises coming from Mr. Big’s orgasmic comfortableness.

When we arrived at the front of the school, Gianna lifted Big off her lap and picked up her iPhone.

Gi: “What the heck is THIS?”

We both stared down at the translucent brown liquid on her iPhone screen.

Me: “I don’t know, did you spill your coffee on it?”

She mindlessly wiped the screen with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and then it hit us…

The pungent smell of 3-days-dead fish and sweaty pennies.

Mr. Big’s anal gland let loose on Gi’s iPhone screen while he was sitting on her lap, and now she smelled like a swordfish that was left on a dock to rot for 3 days, and then someone who’d been holding change in their sweaty palms, sank their hands into the decaying body.

It was that bad.

Gi: “OH MY GOD, MOM! That smells SO bad! What am I going to do??!”

Me: “Just get back in the car! I’ll take you home to change. So what if you’re late…. You can’t go to school smelling like you’re trying to hide a corpse under your sweatshirt.”

Gi: “I CAN’T! I have a presentation to do first thing! If I don’t show up to do it I’ll get an F!”

Me: “Ok. Go straight to the bathroom. Rinse your sleeve with water; then rub it with that cheapo hospital soap; then rinse it again. Worst thing, you go into class with a wet sleeve. Do your presentation, and I’ll bring you a different sweatshirt to change into when you’re done.”

Gi: “I DON’T HAVE TIME! If I don’t go right to class I’ll get a tardy and another dentention.”

Me: “Ok, dude. You’ve got to do this. Good luck. I’ll be back with a change of clothes.”

So Gianna, like a champ, turned up. She did her presentation with the whole front row of the class holding their noses and asking out-loud “WTF is that smell??,” while laying out the drama of current events in Venezuela.

At the end of the day, she was a hero with a hilarious story.

Gi was at odds with Mr. Big for a while, also funny, to watch her be a resentful dick to the dog like two teenagers in a secret fight. And me, the ‘voice of reason’: “C’mon Gi. He didn’t MEAN to squirt his butt juice all over your phone!”

Aw, man. I so often catch myself wishing that I had a Mary Poppins-esque Nanny, a maid/personal assistant (like Alice, from “The Brady Bunch,” but more young renegade, and easier on the eyes) to do all the schizzle I have to do so that my career could go farther, faster.

And then a morning goes like that, and I realize that I wouldn’t want to miss these moments in my life.

I mean. That’s gold. Especially when one enjoys writing about this shit.

Put me in, Coach.