Early last week, while I was in the shower getting ready for work, Helen decided to carry Millie from the library to her room. At some point during the move, Helen dropped Millie. On her face. She got a scratch on her forehead and had a pretty solid bruise for the rest of the week. About an hour later, not long before we were going to leave for school, this happened.
Helen, with a Roma tomato from the kitchen counter: “Hey, dad, this tomato is a little mushy.”
Me: “Really? Show me.”
Helen: “Look. This whole side is mushy. Is it supposed to be like that?”
Me: “No, kiddo, it isn’t. We should eat it soon – like for dinner tonight, don’t you think?”
Helen: “Yeah! That is a great idea.”
Me: “OK – we’ll see about that. Put the tomato back on the counter and we’ll finish getting ready for school.”
In her attempt to put the tomato back, she slipped and dropped it on the floor. It, as physical law demands, landed smooshy side down and splattered all over the kitchen floor.
Helen: “Oh, no! It splatted!”
Me: “Oh, no – it’s no big deal, kiddo. I’ll clean it up. You’re having a rough morning, aren’t you?”
Helen: “Yes. First I dropped Millie, now I dropped the tomato.”
Then, after a second or two of silence, Helen dropped her head and said in a very quiet, subdued voice: “I sure am glad Millie didn’t splat open too.”