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November 04, 2004
Shriek owl, with teeth
Hello. Do you know anyone who opens their mouth as wide as possible, scwinches their eyes all tightly shut, then arches their back and throws the entire weight of their body toward their head? I do. He is my son, the Bean.
This evening, after mutual work days frought with High Highs and Low Lows, my husband and I thought we would try and outwit the nightly shriekfest that has become our commute home. Currently, our twenty-five minute drives consist of my husband driving, the Bean screaming or about to scream, and me frantically handing the Bean organic, wheat-free cookies while singing songs about nothing and pointing out things as we drive by "Look! A light! A sidewalk! Some homeless guys!"
He will stop screaming for certain things. Dogs, yes. Ballooons, yes. Trains, usually. Pieces of lint on the ground? No. We thought that tonight we would be clever and, before we drove home, enjoy some fine Japanese cuisine as a nice, shriek-free family but someone forgot the shriek-free part. I was so frigging tense the whole time, especially because although the restaurant was not very crowded, there was a woman eating alone right behind us. She was writing in a notebook and I can just imagine what she was saying: "Dear Diary, I am so glad I chose not to have children. Why the hell do people think they can bring their kids into fine restaraunts such as this to shriek and throw rice on the floor? BTW, really looking forward to my month-long trip to Greece."
The pumpkins are rotting on our front porch and we have been too busy rushing around to deal with them. A guy named Mike hauled away some trash for us a few days ago and called me to say he was coming by to pick up his check. When he asked where I would leave it, I said that I would put it inside the pumpkin that was carved to look like a monkey.
That night, I noticed he had indeed picked up the check but that he had left a little something behind. Apparently, he had stepped in some dog poo that our dog the Craphound had conveniently left in the path. Mike choose to rid himself of it by scraping it all over our Welcome mat. Welcome home, family! Here is some dog crap for you to step in as you enter your house. I guess that is what you get when you ask a man to fish money out of a rotten monkey pumpkin.
Posted by Max at November 4, 2004 12:49 AM