A box headed for Sweden is being packed, even as I type.
You know you’re getting old when the thought of eating DOTS strikes fear in your heart. Forget shooting your eye out, you could totally pull your teeth out. Trust me, I’ve had the nightmares. I only mention it, because I just returned from an emergency DOTS run. My nephew has creatively inserted said candy into each Skype conversation for the past few months: Have you drawn any new pictures, lately? Yes . . . I drew DOTS. Is there anything you would like us to send for your birthday? DOTS. Do you remember when you came to see Nana and Auntie? Yes . . . I remember DOTS (which, by the way, had no part in the visit).
With that, what kind of self-respecting-auntie would I be if I failed to include them in the package? Exactly.
As this scenario so deftly proves, when it comes to things you love, stuck on repeat is good modus operandi, so long as you’re a child. As years layer one on top of another, however, you can’t be too careful. Make mention of something you fancy, ever so innocent like, and the next thing you know, you’re receiving that very thing–in myriad of size and color–for every birthday and major holiday from that moment until you die.
So you see, you simply cannot go around proclaiming your love all willy-nilly.
Speaking of which, I wonder if my sister-in-law thought it through before casually mentioning how things with protruding teeth make her laugh. Thanks to that particular chat, I’m now equipped with a honing device for any goofy looking creature with teeth sticking out every which way. And I know, I know enough is enough–there comes a time when you simply must move on. Yet one look at catywompas Incisors and I am udone.
I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t see this sooner–or she would be adding it to her menagerie . . .