I have city kids.
Both my husband Adrain, and I, grew up out in the country. The smell of manure was as familiar as our own mother's voices. Okay maybe that was a bad example. But you get what I'm saying here. Wide open spaces were the norm. Riding horses was the entertainment. Building a fort down at the creek, being gone all day long, catching fish (even occasionally starting our own fire and cooking the tiny perch or trout we caught) and riding bikes until dark was standard. Summer lasted for ages, apples came fresh off whatever tree we encountered, and fences were for climbing over, not keeping you out, because you knew everyone who owned the property anyway.
We looked up and he was running through a next door field. You know.. with a bunch of bulls in it. Wearing red pants and a red shirt. I'm pretty sure my heart completely stopped for a minute while my man calmly told Joe to "get his hiney back over that fence right this minute." (And then, again calmly, explained the basics of not jumping live wires into pastures filled with bulls while wearing all red and how that could have ended really badly.) (Which of course, our little hoodlum also wouldn't have necessarily known.) It was then that we realized we have city kids. And it's a little funny... now. But it wasn't very funny when I was visualizing my baby boy being trampled by some startled and angry young bulls.
I guess in hindsight, the part that finally got me laughing... was the fact that once he was safely back out, I recognized the fact that, as he was running toward the bulls dressed all in red with his arms spread wide, he was also singing, "The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music."
There is absolutely not one part of this post that wasn't true because folks, you just can't make this kind of stuff up.