Oak tells me, “Mom!
My friend at school is going to bring me a tarantula tomorrow! She says I can keep it!”
My eyes bug out, and with admirable restraint, I manage to
not quite shriek, “No! You may not get a
tarantula.”
“No, Mom, it’s okay!
She says I can really have it!”
“No.”
“But it already has a little house to live in, and she’s
giving me that too.”
“No.”
“But Mom! She’s
bringing it tomorrow!
“Nope. No
spiders. Besides,” (in a lame attempt to
apply logic and/or push the blame elsewhere) “she can’t bring a spider to
school. It’s against the rules.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I read it in the Parent Handbook. No poisonous spiders at school.”
“But Mom, why don’t you want me to get it? Are you afraid or something?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“But Mom, it’s so cute!
It just hops, like a bunny!”
Okay, if you can think of something more disturbing than a
tarantula that hops, then please do NOT tell me about it. The fact that he thought this would make me
more amenable to his suggestion, plus the general hilariousness of comparing a
gigantic spider to a fluffy bunny made me burst into laughter, which just hurt
his feelings.
And then he tried to convince me to let him get a monkey
instead.
We are really cat and dog people, all four of us, but the
Winemaker has serious allergies, even after five years (!) of weekly shots. Husbands who are perpetually stuffed up, and
occasionally have to go sit on the porch to catch their breaths, are one
thing. Winemakers who can’t smell are
another problem altogether.
Anyone know much about turtles?
