True story. The kids and I went to the beach last Friday along with my best friends and their kids. Pixie was running around playing in the sand because she’s too scared of the waves to even dip her toe into the water. She kept racing up and down the beach finding seashells and bringing them back to me. Then while I was chatting with one of the other adults, she came running up shouting, “MAMA! I FOUND SOMETHING FOR YOU!!!” And then that darling child of mine tried to hand me a rotting turtle corpse.
It was BLECH! Missing the top half of its head plus half of one of its legs. It was all black and gushy red and rotting and I just screamed and screamed and screamed as my darling blonde Pixie toddled toward me holding its rotting corpse… Finally, I got her to drop the damned thing far enough away from me that I could then grab her and haul her kicking and screaming into the ocean to wash the dead turtle zombie cooties from her chubby little hands. Sadly, we had no Purell.
Events like this are what make me realize how much Pixie is like my dad. I mean, the kids looks just like him, if my dad were really short, blonde and female. They certainly act alike. When my dad was a boy, he convinced his baby sister to hand his mother a dead rat. He also left a dead skunk under his mother’s mattress and once shot the poor woman through both ankles. He swears that was an accident. What’s really bad is that I’m named for my paternal grandmother.
I wonder how long it will be before **I** get shot through both ankles. Accidentally, of course.
