It was a nasty cold.
Somehow, though the snow was piling against the house, a small squad of ants made their way inside and into our living room. They picked up a discarded purple crayon and, in a great show of teamwork, carried it up the couch, past my face, and proceeded to color on my pillow case. I tried to stop them or at least to cry out an alarm, but in my weakened condition I just couldn't manage.
Then, quick as they came, the ants dropped the crayon and skedaddled back into the bleak winter night.
When my father asked who had colored on my pillow I tried to explain what had happened. He didn't believe me and wrote it down in my Baby Book as "My 1st Lie."
This accusation so shattered my self esteem it sent me on a lifetime spiral of lying, cheating and petty theft.*
* * * * *
Yesterday morning I was at the computer, doing my daily job searching, and my daughter was in the kitchen rustling around. She came quickly back out to the living room and plopped down to watch Elmo or Super Why! or whatever.
A little later I went back to the coffee maker to refill my mug and noticed that a cup of melted ice and tea remnants had been spilled across the kitchen table.
I confronted my daughter, "What happened?"
"Did you knock over the tea?"
"No? Who did then?"
"A dog?" She nods. "You're saying a dog came into our house, jumped on the kitchen table, knocked over the tea and then ran back out?"
"...a small dog."
Needless to say, though we don't have a baby book, I'm sharing this story with the entire internet. I've shattered her self esteem and am sending her on a spiral of shame and degradation...
...or I showed her that I'm not buying her crap anymore than my dad bought mine.
*ok, not really, but it sounds more fun that way. I'm a good boy, honest!