Anti-WHAT??

This is a friendly reminder that when you go to the drugstore, it's best to leave your children at home. Especially if they can read. And they're 8. And they laugh at anything containing the word "butt." (Which pretty much describes all 8-year-olds.)

We stopped at the drugstore this afternoon to purchase some Dramamine. A completely unhelpful clerk waved vaguely into the air with instructions to try Aisle 12. I did so, searching up and down the aisle with no luck. "I'll help!" Mark volunteered. "You look on that side, I'll look on this side."

And that's when I found out his side of the aisle was infinitely more exciting than my own. My side had every kind of stomach aid you can possibly imagine, which then segued into about 3,111 types of cold medicine for babies. Mark was searching his side of the aisle quietly, when he suddenly burst into laughter, and started chanting, "Monkey butt, monkey butt, AN-TI-MONKEY BUTT!"

I was mortified. "MARK! STOP THAT IMMEDIATELY!" I hissed, and he tried, bless his little heart. Through his snickering, he pointed at a round yellow canister and said, ever-so-innocently, "What? I was just reading the label!"

Turns out he was. To my shock, there is indeed a product called Anti-Monkey Butt. The label shows a grinning, red-bottomed monkey flashing a thumbs-up sign (although I couldn't figure out why he was so happy when the powder clearly wasn't working on his own bum).

I couldn't help it. I turned into a giggling 8-year-old myself. "Avert your eyes," I thought, but when I did, they landed on another product called Boileaze, which helps eliminate boils on your body. I bit my lip, and tried again, but this time, they landed on Staph-A-Septic, which helps prevent staph infections (although, seriously, would you really buy ANY product that contains the word septic? I've watched enough episodes of ER to know septic is never good).

Mark didn't notice any of this, because he was now dancing in the aisle and singing a made-up anti-monkey butt song. He was beginning to draw an audience of curious shoppers.

It was all I could do to get out of the store before losing it. I grabbed his hand and ran for the door, careful not to make contact with any possibly monkey-butt, boil-covered, staph-infected patrons perusing the shelves.

"But what about the Dramamine?" Mark asked, as we headed toward the door. "Are you just gonna leave without it?"

"You bet your monkey-butt I am," I answered. We just barely made it out the door before the laughter completely took over.