Angie Kinghorn

Men, boys, dogs, and other nonsensical things

I maintain that the Y chromosome, if you look closely enough, is a broken X.
Don’t get me wrong.  I love men.  I married one.
It’s just that they’re so damn weird.
Last night, for instance, Mark helped me bathe the children.  Because, for all my bitching about his broken chromosomes, he is an awesome specimen of manhood and also very helpful around the house and with the children.  He cooks.  He folds laundry.  He may be stolen from under my nose as soon as all his exceptionally positive attributes get out.  So, know this: for all his chivalry and helpfulness, he insists that the toothpaste be squeezed from the bottom.  Ha!  He is flawed.  Also, mine.  Hands off.  
Ahem. 
However, last night, Mark reminded me that no matter how helpful, loving, and caring he may be, he’s still got that broken chromosome.
Post-bath, we were drying and dressing the twins while the dog lounged about on the bed, licking various things, as dogs are wont to do.  Unfortunately, our dog is a bichon, which means he is constantly itchy, and wont to lick/scratch/bite himself into a bloody mess.  Literally.  Vet bills are about to become a line item in our household budget.
Anyway, the dog was gnawing on his back foot the way most of us would eat corn on the cob.  I was trying to brush A’s hair, so I asked Mark to stop it.  He took a sip of his drink (because yes, here at Casa Crazy, bathtime doubles as cocktail hour), leaned back in the glider, and said, “Hey, Teds, stop it.”
Yeah.  Dogs totally listen when you say stuff like that.
Predictably, Teddy continued to gnaw at his paw.  Mark took another sip of bourbon, and turned to the boy child.  I could see the gears spinning in his head as he looked from dog to boy.  
“Hey, G, do you think you could do that?” he asked.
“Do what?” G asked, oblivious to the dog drama playing out on the bed.
I bit back my automatic reply “That dog would bite you!” (Lewis Grizzard fans, I know you’re with me here; let’s all share a moment of silence for Lewis, UGA, and an unfortunate incident on the 50 yard line.)
“Do you think you could lick your foot like Teddy’s doing?” Mark asked.
I swear it was the fastest G’s ever moved.  Try to get him to get dressed and go to school, he drags his feet.  Ask him to put on his shoes, and five minutes later he might have decided which one goes on which foot.  But ask him to LICK a foot, and BAM!  Right down onto the floor, foot in mouth.  
“Oh,” Mark said, staring.  “I guess you can lick your foot.”  He continued to stare.  And, really, who wouldn’t?  A small boy on the floor, one foot yanked up to nose level, licking away.  And then, two feet away on the bed, a small fluffy dog in exactly the same pose.
People?  I am SO not making this up.

Comments

  1. Lewis would be so proud. Let's hope Mark has never heard the real story. Even G couldn't do that…

  4. That's hysterical. Also, my son takes 17 hours to get out of the house in the morning. But next time I see my dog doing something annoying, I'll se how long it takes for my son to try it, too.

  5. You, Cameron, and I . . . all married to Marks.

    There is magic in that name, pretty sure.

    Both of my daughters can lick their feet. They have had recent occasion to demonstrate this fact. Children are very strange beasts.

    Very.