Actual conversation with my 10 year-old son this morning — this is real, folks:
My Darling: [Looking at his Australian Shepherd playing outside] Aw, look at Foxy. Ah, I just love her so much, Mom. I wouldn’t give her up for anything in the world!
Me: [Offering a silly hypothetical conundrum to make him consider wiser word choices] ”Really? For nothing in the world? What if kidnappers came and took me away, and called to say, ‘Give us your dog forever or you’ll never see your mom again?‘ Huh, what then?”
My Darling: [Pausing, fingers pinching lower lip, instead carefully considering the wording of their threat] “Ugh! That’s so hard to choose.
[Still considering, looking down all consternated-like] I love y’all both! One of you makes me sandwiches…and the other one makes me happy.”
Awkward seconds-long pause follows, allowing ample time for him to take that last statement back.
The silence hangs as we both hear only running appliances. I gulp.
So, yeah, adopting Foxy was the best 8th birthday present ever. Sure, I’m jealous of a dog, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Anyway, I took up his plate of French toast right away (I think he was still holding his fork), let his dog in — you know, the one that makes him so happy — and locked all the doors in case mothernappers are casing our neighborhood.
And, yeah, I do make killer sandwiches. Maybe that would save me.
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