Yesterday I packed up Leta and we headed to get the truck washed. Things were going pretty well until I had to pry my wallet out of her hands to pay for the service. Why was my wallet in her hands, you ask? BECAUSE I WAS TRYING TO MAINTAIN WORLD PEACE, THAT’S WHY.
I managed to hand over my debit card without disturbing the placement of the wallet in her hand, but when we sat down to wait for the truck to be finished I tried to take away the five dollar bill that was hanging out of the wallet’s side. She was on the verge of eating it. The moment the wallet exited her hand she let out a yelping scream, a wail to end all wails, a bristling cry that said I AM ENTITLED TO THIS WALLET, EARTHLING, GIVE IT BACK.
The man sitting across from us looked up over the magazine in his hands, shook his head and said, “Wow. She’s an attack baby.”
Yeah, thanks for that, buddy. I’m not at all aware that my baby is acting like a baby and that all attempts to prevent her from acting like a baby only increase the degree to which she acts like a baby. Attack baby, indeed. TRAINED TO SIC DICKHEADS, DICKHEAD.
