I see it as an opportunity. I want to rent him out as a diet plan – kiss a cute boy, lose a dress size.
“You,” he told me in total disgust, “are so weird. You wouldn’t feel sorry for me if I was carrying my head under my arm.”
“Oh please – You’d lose it somewhere and I’d have to drive you around looking for it.”
That he thought was funny. Which was a mistake because he’s so tall now that I can’t stop him from putting me in a headlock and noogie-ing my hair. No respect. I had to bite him to get free. Ew - I prolly have cooties.
Since antibiotics took care of his ears, nose and throat, he has regained his appetite with a scary vengeance. He’s taken to circling the kitchen like a shark while I’m cooking dinner.
Last night he rooted around in the pantry and found “crackers.” He had snarfed down a pile before I got a look at the box. They were Metamucil high fiber crackers Mr. W had received as a gag gift when he turned 50.
“Egads,” I said. “In case of constipation you’re supposed to eat two crackers with 8 ounces of water. How many have you had?” He confessed to having at least 10.
Much to his chagrin, I couldn’t stop laughing. “You just ate the equivalent of colon-blow.”
It didn’t slow him down. For the record, he ate an enormous dinner. As soon as he had finished doing the dinner dishes he ate a huge bowl of cereal.
Apparently, no side effects. The kid could digest scrap iron. If I put kibble in a Tupperware container, he'd gobble it down.
I’m going to be gone for the next few weeks. My beloved friend, Miss Peg and her equally delightful husband are on home leave from Thailand, staying with us. I feel like I won the lottery.
Be well, my fab flisters. You are the best.