DON'T MAKE ME
We were at Target.
Our list (‘cause you MUST go into Target with a list or else you’re screwed) was as follows:
Wii Zelda
Brush for toilet
Brush for grill
Pellegrino
Deodorant
Tennis-ball-dog-stick (whenever we take Mojo to the Montrose dog beach, he searches out the poor doggie who’s got a tennis-ball-stick and promptly steals it. Because he is a little bitch sometimes)
As we were in electronics waiting for someone to unlock the Wii case, a little boy started whining to his mom for a game, and she said—in a very angry, threatening voice—“DON’T MAKE ME SPEND MONEY ON YOU!” as if the kid GETTING WHAT HE WANTS was some horrible punishment. I looked at Christopher as if to say: “When we have children we will not say such things,” and then, mid-look, changed my look to say: “I retract that last look because I have no idea how we’ll act when we have children! I should not stick my foot in mouth about such things! Especially when I am buying an eleven dollar tennis-ball-stick for my dog the nasty thief!” and while I was trying to look THAT look the mother said—in that same angry voice—“FINE! BUT REMEMBER YOU MADE ME!” and she took the game off the shelf and put it in her shopping cart.
The kid smiled.
He was thinking, “Sucker.”
*
Later, when Mojo and I were playing catch with his new insanely expensive tennis-ball-stick, I said, “Good boy, Mojo! You caught it in your mouth!” and Christopher said, “Mojo, you’re just like Paris Hilton!”