Rain Man urgently needed a treat the other day. I had dragged him all over town running errands and then took him to a doctor appointment. He was as good as gold throughout and had definitely earned a treat.
“What do you want for a treat?” I asked him.
“Cous cous!” he cried excitedly.
Cous cous? He must be confused. Is he thinking “chocolate” and coming out with the wrong C word? I probed him about the cous cous and, I’ll be darned, he really wanted cous cous. He wanted to go to the food co-op and get cous cous from the bulk dry good bins. And he was absurdly excited about it.
I took him to the co-op, all the while being prepared for him to see the sugared gummy fruit or chocolate drop bins and insist on those instead. But, no. He bolted straight for the cous cous bin and excitedly told me to get a bag for his treat. (On a side note, he told me the regular cous cous was a better treat than the Israli cous cous because it was smaller “balls” and could most definitely be eaten with a spoon.)
We got all the way through the check out with the cous cous. I asked him a few times if he was sure he wanted this for his treat for real. You wouldn’t prefer a packet of gummy bears or a frozen fruit bar? Oh, no. He needed that cous cous. So, I bought the cous cous.
Rain Man ran out to the car excitedly. I buckled him in with his sack of cous cous and got in to the driver’s seat. I started the car and heard from the backseat…
“Can I have a doughnut for my treat?”
And then my head exploded.