Redman was pitching a fit tonight about dessert. Or lack thereof. Whatever. You ever just reach the limit? The well of patience is dry? The tank of tolerance is empty? The needle on the Give-a-Fuckometer barely moving?
I walked by where he was sprawled on the stairs, with, it so happens, my bottle of water in hand. I made a last polite request for him to go get into pajamas and brush teeth. He gave me a double-lungful of grief.
So I dumped the bottle out onto his head.
Wow, was he mad. He howled, “Hey that’s not nice!” I didn’t say anything because I was biting the inside of my cheek hard to keep from laughing. But hey, he got up off the stairs and got moving and a minute later he was laughing through the tears and in another minute it was all laughing. And he brushed his teeth and I told him to get three books and meet me in my bed, and he got three books and met me in my bed and we read and he’s asleep up there now. So all’s well.
But tell me honestly….do I suck?