Wesley’s Daycare Culinary Adventure with Mitchell

So there’s this little camper named Mitchell, right? Totally adorable, but like, completely clueless about the epic journey Wesley’s about to take him on. Wesley, being the most radical camp counselor ever, has this whole vibe of knowing exactly what’s gonna blow Mitchell’s tiny mind.

Picture the scene: Wesley’s got Mitchell in tow, looking all responsible and stuff, but with that glimmer in his eye that says he’s totally gonna make this field trip something to remember. Little Mitchell’s hanging onto Wesley’s hand, rocking his pamper and shirt combo like it’s the height of toddler fashion.

“Okay, buddy,” Wesley says, using that special voice adults use when they’re talking to someone who’s basically a walking, talking potato with limbs, “we’re gonna have the most awesome adventure today!”

Mitchell? He’s just nodding, probably thinking about dinosaurs or whatever tiny humans think about. But Wesley? He’s got plans. Big plans.

They roll up to Beefy Bob’s Burger Bonanza—because apparently, a daycare field trip to a burger joint is totally a thing that happens. The cashier looks a little confused, but hey, Wesley’s got that confident counselor swagger that says, “Yes, I’m absolutely responsible for these children. Mostly.”

“We’ll take some burgers!” Wesley announces, using his best “I’m totally an adult” voice. Mitchell’s just bouncing next to him, probably more excited about the possibility of a toy than the actual food.

As the burgers arrive, Wesley’s got this look. It’s the look of a man who sees a challenge and thinks, “Challenge accepted.” He starts breaking down the burger into tiny, kid-friendly pieces, talking in that laid-back tone that’s somehow both condescending and weirdly endearing.

“Look at this, Mitchell!” he says, holding up a burger piece like it’s a scientific marvel. “This is how big boys eat! You’re gonna be so strong!”

Mitchell, mid-bite, suddenly gets that telltale look. You know the one—that moment when a toddler realizes something’s brewing in the digestive department. With the precision of a tiny professional, he lifts up the front of his pamper, gives a little push, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a miniature foghorn.

The surrounding diners freeze. Wesley’s got this look of simultaneous horror and pride. “Whoa, buddy!” he declares, as if Mitchell’s just completed some kind of advanced biological maneuver.

Mitchell, completely unfazed, continues munching his burger. The pamper? Now sporting a fresh load that would make a hazmat team nervous. But our little champion? He’s just living his best life.

Wesley leans in, “You’re crushing it, champ!” he declares, as if filling a pamper is some kind of monumental achievement.

The surrounding diners are watching with a mix of confusion and mild horror. Is this a field trip? Is this some kind of biological performance art?

Wesley’s Bathroom Finale

The bathroom at Beefy Bob’s Burger Bonanza became an arena of toddler-sized chaos. Wesley, with Mitchell in tow, decided the toilet was the perfect stage for his next act of questionable childcare.

“Alright, buddy,” Wesley said, his voice a mix of exhaustion and misplaced enthusiasm, “hop up on the toilet seat.”

Mitchell, still riding the high of his burger-eating adventure, complied without question. His pamper—now a disaster zone from earlier events—hung loose and precarious.

Wesley positioned Mitchell just so, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eye. What happened next was less a bathroom break and more a biological warfare experiment.

Fart number one erupted with the force of a small trumpet. Mitchell giggled.

Fart number two followed, a sonic boom that seemed to rattle the bathroom tiles. More giggles.

Fart number three was a sustained note that would make a jazz musician proud. Mitchell’s laughter reached a pitch only dogs could fully appreciate.

The fourth and final fart was the crescendo—a symphonic explosion of digestive discontent that landed squarely on Mitchell’s unsuspecting face.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Wesley simply picked up Mitchell, his pamper unchanged, soiled, and hanging on by a thread.

“Time to go home, buddy,” Wesley announced, walking out of the bathroom with the confidence of a man who had absolutely not just committed several violations of basic childcare ethics.

Moral of the story: Some field trips are best left undocumented.