Trauma by Banana

It may not have been so bad, except for the series of events. Isn't that always how it goes?

My defenses were low. I was tired. I had only moments before finished the 45-minute drama entitled "Princess's Homework." She found nine different ways to read the word "summer" incorrectly. Nine. When she got to seven, I finally said "wow Princess! That is nothing short of amazing! Let's write them down so we can count them. Seven! High five! I bet you can't even think of more. What will you do? It would be so sad for you to have to resort to, you know, reading the word." Then she found two more. I think they were "soomner" and "sumter." And when I left to pick up Buddy from piano, she asked Grampa to tell her the word. You know. So she could keep pretending she couldn't read it. Then she finished the book, reading ACTUALLY hard words like "diary."

I walked into the living room twitching, sweating, and rubbing my temples and my dad, purposely ignoring all these signals because he has a sick sense of humor (SICK!) says,

"were you aware of the contents of this dog crate?"

I looked down at Jorge's crate. It's usually in Buddy's room, where the Cuddle Bear often hides to perform various acts of deviousness. I fliped open the shallow top compartment.

The foulest banana I have ever seen stared back at me. Stared. It had grown eyes. It had obviously been working on growing said eyes for several months. I screamed. I actually said, "oh, the humanity! How much must one woman endure in a day!" Yes, I did. Those very words.

So there you have it. It is possible to be thrown over the edge by a banana.