A Burger and a Bet.

So, something really funny happened yesterday evening.

Well, something good and something funny.

The good part first.  My ever-creative chef of a husband whipped up the best burger ever.  No really, the best.  We quit eating red meat (for the most part) a few years ago and we have turkey burgers now.  Once you get used to them, you suprisingly discover that you actually prefer them over beef.  Well, we do anyway. 

So, I come home from work and he's cooking:

FETA AND MUSHROOM-STUFFED TURKEY BURGERS WITH BACON AND GARLIC MAYONNAISE.

I felt that the A-list ingredients needed their own banner of capitalized letters.  Because the burger was amazing.  It was soooooo good.  I mean really.  He even made the garlic mayonnaise himself.  I'm not biased or anything, but he's a culinary genius.

Anyway, we're sitting at the table enjoying our burgers alone, in rare peace, because the three small men are out back doing their normal boy stuff, and they had already scarfed down their slightly-less-than-gourmet meal of grilled hot dogs and mandarin oranges.

Our kitchen table is surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, which give us a clear view onto the back porch and the backyard.  I usually open one when they are out there so I can hear when someone starts their shriek of terror from a) self-inflicted injury, or b) the more common sibling-inflicted injury.  We also hear all kinds of conversations that they believe to be confined to the perimeter of their outdoor sanctuary.  Last night was no exception.

I'm halfway through my gourmet burger and I hear, "Hey Bman, I will give you ALL of my money if you stick your whole head in this ice chest of water."

Gman was referring to the 3/4 filled cooler of icy cold water (six bags of melted ice specifically) from his birthday party the previous day. 

There it sat, a beacon of sloshy, slushy perfection just waiting for the ideal victim.

I see Bman open the chest and take a longgggg look and then he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Well, okay."  Followed by a nervous laugh.

My husband and I sit there watching this spectacle unfold, curious to see how this would play out, although I had a pretty good idea.

Bman, with Gman and Wee-man anxiously looking on, grabs both sides of the cooler and KERPLUNK - confidently dips his face and head right in the ice bath.

He comes up quickly with a look of sheer panic and pain, then the tears start.  Big crocodile tears on a strawberry-red face dripping with ice water.   I ran to get a towel and new shirt and of course wrapped my baby up and told him it was all going to be okay.  It was a weird combination of hilarity, sympathy and pride all rolled into one moment.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry with him.

While I'm tending to Bman and his brain freeze, we notice that Gman has casually strolled in and plopped himself right in front of the TV, (seemingly) oblivious to his poor brother's predicament.

My husband authoritatively announces, "Gman, go get your piggy bank.  You have to pay Bman ALL of your money."

"WHHHAAATT??"  (Gman's response, with eyebrows raised)

My husband looks him in the eye and says, "That's right.  We heard your bet. You told Bman you would give him ALL of your money if he dunked his head in the ice.  Well, he did it.  So you are going to make good on your bet."

Gman's mouth fell open so wide I thought he might tip over.  This was followed by shuffling and skulking down the hall, and one minute later he walks back into the room and begrudgingly hands over the plastic container to his father.  And also points out this is the "stupidest" thing ever.  He proceeds to get a glassy-eyed stare while watching my husband count out $26 and some-odd cents that then gets deposited into Bman's piggy bank.

My husband turns to Gman and says, "Let this be a lesson.  Never make bets with people unless you want to pay up.  Next time, bet someone one dollar, two dollars, five dollars.... but NEVER bet all you have.  Also, I hope you know that your brother is not scared of anything, for future reference."

Then he turns to Bman and says, "You don't have to do everything your brother says.  Also, next time you make a bet that is going to hurt, ask for more money."

So, one kid's richer and they're both (hopefully) wiser.

I got a great laugh, a funny story and a kick-a burger in the same evening.  Monday nights are rarely this good.