Not. My. Son.
Evil Son: Leaping on the bed "Hi! Mom!"
Our Heroine: "Uff."
E.S: Bouncing on the bed "Hey! Mom! Its Morning! Dontcha Know!"
E.S: Leaping over Our Heroine to embrace the less-than-thrilled kitty, her sound and comfy sleep also shattered. "I'm already dressed! The sun is up! See?" The last clearly demonstrated by the forceful yanking back of the dark curtains that no longer prevent the full force of the sun from banking off the mirror and straight into the eyes of Our Heroine, who had unwisely opened them a slit. Huge error in judgment.
E.S: Vaulting back onto the bed, landing nearly on top of the poor disoriented kitty. "Why are you still in bed? You usually are getting me breakfast, now!"
O.H: "Actually, you usually don't eat for at least an hour or more. Are you REALLY hungry?"
E.S: Frolicking all the fuck over the former sanctuary that was my bed. "YES!"
O.H: "OK. Gimme a minute."
5 minutes later, Our Heroine staggers vertiginously into the kitchen and manages to hit the 'on' button of the coffee machine. She looks vaguely akin to Medusa, but without the benefit of her style.
O.H: "So, Colin, what would you like for breakfast?"
E.S: "Oh, I'm not hungry. I want to wait."
O.H: Blinking in stunned silence as the events penetrate her slowly moving mind. "Fuck. Now I'm the one who's hungry. Hope there's a bagel left."
Yes. I let him live. And fed him breakfast. And continued to love him. I deserve the Nobel Prize in Something Exalted. Or Sainthood. Yes, I do.
I know, of course, I'm not going to get it. But some day, he will probably have offspring.
I have a long memory and I can wait.
Labels: The Small-Handed Ones