On a Sesame Street Bus

"It's a joke."

"I don't get it!" I'm staring at the photo. It's got two million likes. It's been sent to me fifty times today and I just. Don't. Get. It.

There's a lot of comments about this photo, too. I'm not alone in not "getting it." Half the people don't "get it." Then there's the others who are giving it the laugh emojis, talking about how funny it is. They call me "young" because I don't get it.

I'm thirty! I'm not young. Mom thinks it's funny, but I still don't get it. What's the big deal about it?

The photograph shows a Sesame Street-themed school bus. The bus, its exterior adorned with cheerful characters from the beloved children's show, has windows covered in specks of blood and streaks of pus, disturbingly out of place on the otherwise colorful and jolly bus.

In the foreground, a disgruntled-looking male adult dominates the frame. Next to him is a scrawny boy, his feet, naked and riddled with bunions, holding a checkers board in one hand and a pair of socks in the other, with a defiant expression. The kid doesn't look happy at anyone else in the picture.

Behind these two, two obese girls are glaring at the scrawny boy, their faces twisted with disdain. They fill the frame with their hefty presence, their eyes practically boring holes into the boy's back. The tension in the bus is palpable, the contrasting characters and unexpected details creating a photograph that is as baffling as it is intriguing.

I stare at this picture, and still can't get the "joke." And my mother is still giggling.

"Don't feel bad," she says. I dread the next words out of her mouth, echoing what others on Facebook are saying. "You're too young."

I'm still staring at it when my son suggests we go to McDonalds. Normally, I'd say "no," as I hate the junk food giant, but I cave, knowing he's had a pretty bad time since his father left home.

We pile into my battered old van, a red vehicle of desperation covered with palm-prints, discarded school papers, and my son's stinky soccer bag and we drive. Mom comes with us, since dad's playing poker tonight.

As we drive, my mom grins at me and asks me if my bologna has a name. I dart an annoyed look at her. "What?" My eyes return to the road as she just starts laughing. Then she starts humming, which is even worse.

"Dum dum DUM dum dum da-dum dum. Da DUM da da da dum..."

"Mom."

"Da dum dum DUM dum dum dum. Da DUM da da da dum."

"MOM."

"Oh, I love to eat it every day..."

"MOTHER." I sigh. "What is with you tonight?"

"You're so damned young, darling." She giggles then scootches in her seat to glance at my boy. Thankfully, he's been ignoring the exchange, as his face is buried in his phone. Probably playing Minecraft again.

"Mom."

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you please..." I pause, swallowing my pride. "Explain the photo?"

"Oh, darling. It's funny we're going to McDonald's."

"Why?"

"Because it has to do with the photo." She giggles some more. "And the thing I was humming was from a deli commercial from my time."

"OH...KAY..." I draw out the words. "And?"

"I'll tell you later."

As we push open the glass doors to McDonald's, I can smell the tang of ketchup and the subtle crunch of pickles in my mouth and I cringe at the amount of grease that will later show up as pimples on my face.

My mom, with her silver hair and sparkly eyes, was still having a grand old time at my expense. She was always ready with a quip or a humorous anecdote as long as I knew her, and this was no different. Her laughter is infectious, and she has an uncanny ability to find humor in the most mundane situations, but I wasn't biting. Much.

We went to order. As my son and I perused the menu, mom confidently declared, "I'll have a Big Mac." There was something about the way she said it, a sly twinkle in her eye, that makes us both look up.

"Big Mac, huh?" I shake my head, then she says, "I remember when 'big' meant something entirely different." She winks at me, a hint of mischief in her eyes. I find myself smiling slightly, a blush creeping up my cheeks as I catch her subtle innuendo.

Throughout the meal, mom keeps us entertained with her witty observations and playful jabs at her towering burger. "Oh, look at this," she exclaims at one point, holding up the sandwich. "Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese. Reminds me of my last date with your dad in the '70s!" She gave a hearty laugh, and I shake my head. I don't get her joy in such a junkie meal.

"Honestly, I don't know what's bigger," she muses, holding up the Big Mac next to her head, an exaggerated look of contemplation on her face, "This burger or my hair back in the day!" This sends us into another fit of laughter, the surrounding tables giving us amused looks. I'm finally shaking out of my funk. Finally, she stops laughing, looks at me, and says, "The picture shows an old McDonald's commercial."

It takes me a moment to remember what photo she's talking about. "I didn't see Ronald McDonald..." This sets her off again. She's laughing hard enough to pee and I momentarily worry if she's at that age yet.

The ride home is a symphony of awkward laughter and relentless questioning. I pester mom about her Big Mac jokes and the photo, but she only responds with cryptic smiles. My son, equally confused, adds his own barrage of questions, his young mind failing to grasp the adult humor. I find relief in his confusion, glad that his innocence still shields him from such subtleties. Amidst the uncomfortable silence and evasive answers, a sense of joy washes over me. It wasn't just about deciphering mom's jokes, but the joy of sharing this perplexing ride home together, our family bond strengthened in the shared awkwardness. And I realize I haven't thought about my soon-to-be ex-husband all evening.

When she recovers herself, she calmly says, "Two obese Patties, Special Socks, Lennie Cheats, picks his bunions on a Sesame Street Bus."

I still don't get it.