Day 644: Tuesday “Handles” the Situation

I can safely state that on most days, I laugh very little.  And, it can also be safely said, that, if I do laugh, my laughter is not caused by the natives.  At all.  However, in some rare moments, those rare, priceless moments that will remain with you until your dying breath, those same natives that cause extreme distress twenty-five out of the twenty-four hours of the day, can force me to shoot liquid beverages out of my nostrils as I double over in laughter.  Yep.  Just that priceless.

So, let’s back up to about one hour past twilight – both natives had been nestled in their resting quarters for hours at this point.  When, all of a sudden, wailing and crying began coming from their resting chambers, much to the chagrin of myself and the tribal leader.  Begrudgingly, we arose and attended to Tuesday who was distraught with stomach discomfort, or so it seemed.  We treated her and returned her to her resting quarters, we thought for the remainder of the evening.  Ha.  Losers.

Shortly thereafter, she began wailing and crying again, this time complaining about the all-to-common knee injury – which was expected.  I will be frank – this injury crops up more than a retired professional football player’s ailments.  However, she was once again treated and returned to her resting quarters.  We returned to our own resting quarters and all was quiet.  Until morning.  At 6:30 AM.

Now, I must say, I cherish my slumbers – I do.  I also consider that any hour that I see prior to the sun rising is ungodly and unnecessary.  However, when duty calls, duty calls.  This morning, before light struck the interior of the tribal abode, Tuesday arrived at the door of our resting chambers, lamenting the loss of her beverage.  Strange.  She had it when she was escorted back to her resting quarters last evening.  Groggy, I arose, and attempted to fumble my way through the tribal living area, ensuring that I not step on the large interlocking blocks that were dispersed across the floor.  I would sooner have my arm cut off with a rusty fork than step on an interlocking block.  Especially in the dark.  Anyways, Tuesday had already beaten me to her resting quarters and was already back in her bed.  Where the fuck was the beverage?  I sorted through the numerous blankets and coverings and stuff animals and – wait – there it was – at the end of the bed.  I gave the native her beverage and admonished her to go back to sleep, which she did.  I returned to my resting quarters and was awake for about half an hour longer.  Sigh.

So, that’s how today began.  Don’t get me wrong in all of this – I do love my natives – I do.  I would walk through the burning fires of hell and back for both of them.  I would.  However, there are times that they drive me completely insane.  Those hours tend to be between eight o’clock in the forenoon and nine o’clock in the evening.  I spend far too many hours admonishing them to pick up this or take care of that.  I scold them for engaging in epic combat with each other.  I spend far too much time repeating words that are apparently in a different fucking language because they don’t seem to understand what I’m saying.  Yet, I would still give my eye teeth for either of them.  I must be absolutely freakin’ crazy.

Anywho, fast forward to this evening – the natives were “playing together” in the tribal living area and the tribal leader and I were discussing some matter of importance in the food preparation area.  I say “playing” because I can neither vouch for the validity of the natives actually “playing” with anything, nor can I verify that they were playing “together.”  As per usual, all was going ok, until a sudden outburst from Wednesday – Wednesday’s sudden outbursts often tend to be unhappy in nature, as she was in this particular moment.  In fact, she was pissed.

“TUESDAY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?” the tribal leader inquired sternly, which is really the only way to illicit a response.

As per usual, crickets were abound.




“Ok…I coming.”  No sense of urgency or shame.  Fantastic.

“What happened?  Why is Wednesday crying?”

“WHY IS WEDNESDAY CRYING?”  In case the question wasn’t heard the first freakin’ time, it was repeated with expression.

“Ummm…she’s crying.”  No shit.  I felt like I was trying to shake down a murder suspect.

“Why is Wednesday crying, what made her cry, what did you do?”  I asked, hoping she’d respond to at least one of those questions.

“I handle it.”

Chalk this one up to another parenting fail moment.  The tribal leader and I lost our composure and proceeded to snicker and laugh, though I held some of my composure – after all, Tuesday was standing right next to me.

“I handle it.”  I got it the first time, thanks.

“What did you handle?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the crime.

“Wednesday.  I handle Wednesday.”  Again I had to hide my laughter.  Damn it, she’s good.

“Don’t you think that’s probably why Wednesday’s crying?” I asked, my voice filled with sarcasm, which was wasted on Tuesday.  Sigh.

She soon lost interest and went back to her – well, whatever she was doing prior to the interrogation.  The tribal leader and I continued to chuckle over her response for a few more moments until the reality of it sank in.  She had used our own words against us.  For, on many occasions, we have admonished Tuesday for reprimanding her sibling immediately after her sibling was reprimanded by us by informing her that we were “handling it.”  Damn.

So, yes, Tuesday “handled” the situation.  Good. God.  For now, the natives have retired to their slumbers – and without a skirmish.  Hmmmm…what’s the catch?


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