While I'm getting over the sting of Gert telling me that I was annoying her in the car this morning (and I deal with the fact that my office mate, a 45 pound Border Collie, has hellacious gas) I thought I'd recount happier times when I wasn't getting on Gert's nerves and the dog still had gas. Note: did you know that hellacious is actually a slang word? I did not know that.
Last night we were watching some movie on the Disney Channel about tweens in trouble or seeking understanding or trying to fit in or learn an IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON while looking fabulous and perfectly balanced both hormonally and mentally. Not like real kids, who turn on you in an instant. Like this morning.
I'm getting over it.
Anyway . . .
"Dad, that boy must be a scientist," my frighteningly verbose five-year-old says to me while watching a frightenling scientifically adept tween used beakers, test tubes, bunsen burners and what not.
"What makes you say that?"
"He's mixing chemichers." She twisted her face for a moment. "Chemi-CALs."
"That's right sweetie."
"Uh oh," she said as the chem lab exploded, "that wasn't a good idea." And then a series of events were set into motion, caused by the spilling chemicals, that only being submerged in water could solve.
We cuddled and continued to watch the movie. Or, more likely, I blanked out for an hour after asking why, if water fixed the problem the characters weren't cured earlier. They stated that the movie took place over ten days. No one showered in that time?
Ew. Gamey.
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