Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, May 3, 1993 TAG: 9305030279
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Consider this: a weekend with all six grandchildren gathered at Grandmother's and Grandpapa's. Aunty Monty's there, too, to help ride herd.
Bedtime. The 2-year-old is snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug. He's been asleep for hours.
But the others - three boys and a girl, ranging in age from 7 to 3 1/2 - are still chattering away, even at 10 o'clock. Discussing, in their dimly lit bedroom, the ways in which they'll dissuade the Boogie Monster from carrying them off during the night, along with their various stuffed toys.
Enter Aunty Monty.
"You know, of course, that there's no such thing as the Boogie Monster. Not in that closet, not under the bed, not out there in the trees somewhere."
Oh, yes there is! Vivid descriptions follow. What he looks like. What he eats (primarily sleeping children). How he sneaks into dark rooms. How he sets out antennae and satellite dishes to keep track of unwary victims.
Change tactics. "Well, if the Boogie Monster should happen somehow to get into your room in the night, which I doubt, you just call me and I'll take care of him." Big, strong Aunty Monty! Who, by the way, remembers the Boogie Monster quite well.
A little later, after Aunty Monty has settled down with a beer, a weary little-girl voice calls out again from upstairs, "Aunty Monty!"
"All right, boys," I tell them all when I'm back upstairs. "No more talk of the Boogie Monster tonight." Then add the classic, "Settle down and go to sleep."
Back downstairs. Two more swigs of beer.
"Aunty Monty!" Now it's shrieks.
This time, I storm in, ready to do battle with the Boogie Monster himself, if need be.
The oldest nephew starts bolt upright in bed. "We weren't talking about the Boogie Monster!" he says, before I can say a word. "Honest! We were talking about the vice presidents!"
Well, no wonder you scared your sister, I think, but can't bring myself to say. Because I'm laughing so hard. I move my niece into my room, where her baby brother's already snoring. And soon enough, everyone's asleep.
The next morning, turns out we've all escaped the Boogie Monster's clutches after all.
But when the niece - who's 3 1/2 - goes to get dressed, we hit another crisis. She puts on her matching skirt and top. She puts on her coordinated tights. (Which she's picked out herself, of course. "I can do it myself!")
Then she panics. "I can't wear those shoes with this outfit!"
Where are her other shoes? The ones that she can wear with this outfit? It appears that they didn't make it to Grandmother's house.
Enter Aunty Monty. With the outrageous suggestion that she wear her slouchy pink socks over her blacks tights, and then those particular shoes will have the effect of pulling the whole pink-and-black-and-white outfit together.
The niece looks at the socks. She looks at the shoes. She looks at her own be-tighted ankles.
She looks doubtful. But finally sighs, "Well, I guess big girls do sometimes wear their socks over their tights."
Hurrah! Another Boogie Monster bites the dust!
(Or rears its ugly head. I'm not sure which.)
\ AUTHOR Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB