December 8, 2009
So, as you learned in my last blog entry, on Friday, The Boy and The Hub built an awesome tropical snowman made from palm fronds, fruit, aloe vera, and various other warm weather things. Later that evening, The Boy decided to name him “Snowy.” On Saturday morning, I looked out the window and saw him talking to Snowy. It was a pretty long and intense conversation with lots of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions on The Boy’s part, but I didn’t really see Snowy contributing much, so I assumed that maybe Snowy is just the quiet type, and not a loud, dancing, big mouth snowman like the one in those xmas cartoons.
Did it bother me to see my 8-year-old boy in an extremely animated and intensely deep conversation with a snowman? Umm…of freakin’ course not! Do you not know me AT ALL? As a matter of fact, I was unbelievably proud that he can carry on a one-sided conversation almost as well as I can. Honestly, I could talk to a can of soup for eons longer than most people can talk to an actual living breathing person. Not that I’ve actually done that or anything. But sometimes when The Hub comes home after a long week at the office, his vital signs are almost indistinguishable to that of a can of Campbell’s Chunky Minestrone.
So anyway, The Boy is outside having a chat with Snowy, and after awhile he started hugging him, which I thought was totally adorable. I mean, come on! My sweet, Texas-raised child was so thrilled and excited about his first Houston snowfall and so in love with his first Texan Snowman, that he was outside hugging him! So I smiled, wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, had a sip of hot cocoa, and stood at the window thinking about how lucky I was to have such a sweet, innocent child. But soon I noticed that The Boy’s “hug” began to look slightly violent, so I leaned closer to the window, wiped off the steamy glass, and squinted to get a better look. Upon closer inspection I realized that Ethan wasn’t “hugging” Snowy insomuch as he was holding him in a frosty death grip as he ate part of his abdomen.
Was this how Hannibal Lecter got started? I read all of those books, and saw all of the movies, and that dude was into eating some nasty stuff, you guys. I do remember that the last book was all about Lecter’s childhood. It’s been a long-ass time since I read it, but I seem to recall that is was pretty freakin’ snowy where he lived. Oh. My. Balls. You guys. When I was drinking some bedtimey wine the other night, The Boy asked if he could have some. Of course I laughed and thought he was just kidding around cuz he’s silly like that. But ya know what kinda wine I was drinking? It was a freakin’ Chianti, people. A freakin’ Chinati!
I’m kinda messed up in the head right now.
By Monday morning, between the weather and all the “hugging” of Mr. Snowy, this is what remained:
I conducted a very professional, long, and exhaustingly labor-intensive CSI-ish inspection that included walking outside and saying “Well, it looks like the snowman melted,” and taking this picture. And my professional findings show that all the evidence seems to show that Snowy died of natural causes, i.e. weather related melt-ation. Luckily, bite marks in snow and ice disappear when it turns to liquid. Whew! But just to be on the safe side, I think I’m gonna take Snowy’s aloe vera tongue and hide it someplace safe. Ya know, just in case the Police come poking around. For all I know, snowmen may be kinda zombie-ish in that even when they are just separated parts, those parts may still work, and the last thing I need is Snowy’s tongue telling tales.
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