One of These Things Is Not Like the Other
I am sitting across the restaurant table, rooting around in my purse for I know-not-what, while my mother holds the baby on her lap. The two are entertaining one another, eating, grabbing for things, etc. I am half-listening as my mom asks Wigglet what she wants....
"Agua? Leche? Tete? Pulpo?"
I burst out laughing. "What??"
My mom and the baby look up. "What do you mean, what?"
"Pulpo!" I repeat, laughing. And, yes, there is an octopus toy on the table, but...
"Well, she was reaching for it," my mother says reasonably.
"I know," I say. "It was just the progression. It sounded so normal until then... Water, milk, pacifer... octopus..."
The baby gnaws on the octopus's head. The surreality of it dissipates. But only a little.
Water. Milk. Binky. Mmm, rubber calamari, rawr!
Stardancer Home.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
haikujaguar) wrote,
