Having two toddlers, a four year old girl and a two year old boy, my wife and I have become quite familiar with the cartoons and other shows on TV that are aimed at the toddler audience. Some of their favorite shows include PAW Patrol, Bubble Guppies, Blaze and the Monster Machines, and Peppa Pig. On Peppa Pig, the title character, Peppa Pig, is a young British pig-girl about the same age as my daughter, with an even younger brother, George, who is about the age as my son.
Among the many cute, silly things that Peppa, George, and their family do on that show, one of the most consistent is to “Jump in Muddy Puddles.” These little pig characters love to play in the mud, and it being set in England, they only need to wait so long before the weather turns to rain, and muddy puddles are formed for them to jump in. The only caveat to this most favorite (or should we use the British “favourite”?) of activities is when Mommy Pig admonishes, “If you want to jump in muddy puddles, YOU MUST WEAR YOUR BOOTS!”
After the snow storm that walloped New York and the rest of the East Coast last week, New York City felt like it was a series of giant mountains of snow, interrupted by the occasional street light. In the past several days, the weather has warmed considerably, and the giant mountains of snow have melted into even more giant lakes of slush. Or as Peppa Pig might like to think of them, like “Slushy Puddles!”
Well, on my way to work today, as I attempted to begin the perilous journey across a particularly wide and slushy avenue, some genius in a sharp business suit who looks like the typical “work on Wall Street, drive a BMW, think he owns the world” stereotype, decided that the best way to avoid getting his ultra expensive shoes wet in the big slushy puddle in front of him was to do a giant leap over it.
I’m not much of an athlete, and I’m by no means a long jumper. That being said, it didn’t take a pre-operative Bruce Jenner type former Olympic decathlete to predict that this particular jump was rather ill-advised, and not likely to end well.
Of course, when Mr. Entitlement landed, he was squarely in the middle of the giant slushy puddle, and he had splashed slush all over himself and everyone else within a five foot radius of him, including yours truly. My less than ultra expensive shoes, pants, and coat were a mess, and I experienced the ultimate fear every New Yorker holds deep in his or her heart; street slush in the face!
I recoiled and tried to clear the filthy slush out of my face, and shake the cold wet goo off my clothes. In that most disgusting of moments, I saw a sight that made this deepest, darkest of horrors at least somewhat tolerable. The big jumper had dropped his super fancy smart phone (you know the type, the one that’s clearly not just a regular iPhone, but something custom made out of either a dinosaur fossil or out of Martin Shkreli’s singular copy of a Wu Tang Clan album), fell out of his clutches and into the slush when he landed.
Mr. Entitlement had to reluctantly stick his manicured hand in the slush and fish out the phone. The slush-spattering my clothes took was well worth it, just to see the look of disgust on this guy’s face as he stuck his bare hand into the freezing slush and pulled out a soaked and frozen no-longer-smart-phone. And an even more deliciously evil moment of schadenfreude was watching the Wall Street guy take off his completely wrecked $1,000 shoes off and waddle away in his soaked socks. If he had only listened to Mommy Pig and worn his boots, perhaps he wouldn’t have suffered such a fate. And I wouldn’t have had such a devious smile on my otherwise slush-covered face.