My name is Amos.
I have a way of finding a mud puddle.
As soon as my mom looks away, I make a beeline.
“Ohhhhhh, Amos,” she says.
I don’t know why it bothers her.
It’s not her feet that are sloshing around in church shoes.
It doesn’t bother me a bit.
Well, maybe a teensy amount.
I do like when my mom pretends to scold me though.
She’s such a faker.