Explosive Votive

Yesterday I set Leta on the dining room table so that I could put her coat on. Sitting next to her were three festive glass candle holders my mother gave me because her house is so full of ceramic pigs she didn’t have any room left for three tiny candle holders.

Whenever I set Leta anywhere the first thing she does is look for something to grab. It’s an almost maniacal habit of hers, and she gets this look in her eyes that seems to say, “WHERE ARE THE KNIVES?”

So of course the moment her butt hit that table she whipped around and grabbed one of the candle holders. I know you’re thinking at this point in the narrative, “Why on Earth would she put her on the table next to the candle holders in the first place?” Which means you’ve obviously forgotten that the narrator is an absolute idiot.

After inspecting the candle holder for a couple seconds she looked at me straight in the eyes and then threw it across the room where it hit the floor and SHATTERED spectacularly on the wooden floor. For the first time in our relationship I looked at her and said, “No, Leta.” It just came to me, finally, the word NO. And it felt so good I said it again and again, NO, NO, NO. Just say that word. NO. It’s so powerful, so compelling.

Leta never having actually heard the word NO looked at me straight in the eyes again and leaned over to pick up one of the two remaining candle holders. I caught her hand in mid-throw seizing the candle holder and saying NO again. And then she used her other hand to reach for the final remaining candle holder.

This NO thing. Yeah. It’s SO working.