Saturday, May 22, 2004
Some days it is best to be in the dark. I came home one day. My dear wife was slamming around dishes in the kitchen, not a good sign. I slowly peaked around the corner. The sight that welcomed me home can only be describe as surreal. Here in the center of the kitchen table sitting on a washrag was a nude monsa hand. His head was sunk low, as that was something he did to look pitiful when in trouble.
I stepped in. The "walking into a minefield" feeling is the best description of those first steps.
"Hello dear how was your day?"
She twirled around. Glared at me, and as she brushed past me heading into the back of the house I heard her mutter through clenched teeth, "Ask it."
Not good. Not good at all. As I set myself at the table monsa hand shifted himself turning his pink naked butt to me. Not good at all.
"What happened?" I tried to use my best fatherly sounding voice.
"You don't want to know". He scurried to the edge, climbed down the table leg, and went through the door towards the basement.
He paused as he passed through the door. He looked back at me.
"Am I a good monsa?" His eye was watering up and I could tell he so wanted to cry. But boys don't cry in front of other boys.
"You are the best monster ever" I said, hoping it would help the little guy. He looked real distraught over whatever happened,
"Thanks big one". He scurried down to the basement and stayed in his closet for the rest of the night.
I never found out what happened. Maybe I shouldn't. Monsa hand and my wife started to get along better. Maybe they had a big fight. I know sometimes in life you need to sit back and just observe.
I stepped in. The "walking into a minefield" feeling is the best description of those first steps.
"Hello dear how was your day?"
She twirled around. Glared at me, and as she brushed past me heading into the back of the house I heard her mutter through clenched teeth, "Ask it."
Not good. Not good at all. As I set myself at the table monsa hand shifted himself turning his pink naked butt to me. Not good at all.
"What happened?" I tried to use my best fatherly sounding voice.
"You don't want to know". He scurried to the edge, climbed down the table leg, and went through the door towards the basement.
He paused as he passed through the door. He looked back at me.
"Am I a good monsa?" His eye was watering up and I could tell he so wanted to cry. But boys don't cry in front of other boys.
"You are the best monster ever" I said, hoping it would help the little guy. He looked real distraught over whatever happened,
"Thanks big one". He scurried down to the basement and stayed in his closet for the rest of the night.
I never found out what happened. Maybe I shouldn't. Monsa hand and my wife started to get along better. Maybe they had a big fight. I know sometimes in life you need to sit back and just observe.
