So I was sprawled out on my bed last Sunday morning, doing lots of work and being super productive.
Or, you know, watching the end of Speed.
The Monkey strutted in the back door (I had the volume up and didn’t hear her), walked to my bedroom, and jumped on my bed. She was eating potato chips and dropping crumbs all over the place.
She grabbed my phone and started going through my contacts and asking
“Who is this?” about everyone. Including herself.
She was displeased with the combination of one person’s last name with her first name.
She pronounced things in an exaggerated French accent.
She told me that one person’s name made her sound like a detective.
Monkey: Is she a detective, Peter?
Peter: I don’t think so.
Monkey: Hmm. She should be.
Peter: I’ll let her know.
Monkey: Do that.
She wanted to call one person, but I explained the concept of time zones. She was unmoved.
Monkey: Who is “Dad?”
Peter: My dad.
She texted a couple of my friends before I started to worry that she might cause some damage and wrestled the phone away from her.
At one point I said, “Uhm… is that a bug in your hair?” Her eyes almost popped out. So I took whatever it was out of her hair. I looked closer at it.
“Goof… you had potato chip in your hair.”
She said, “Oh.”
I asked, “How?”
“Welllllll, Peter, I was waiting for a chance to cross the road and I
was throwing chips in the air. One must have went *weird sound* and
landed in my hair. And the cars kept coming and no one would stop for
“People don’t typically stop here to let you cross. There isn’t that
“Well I’m so beautiful I thought they’d stop to take a look.”