ill and contrary

Being sick makes Fuss ornrier than usual- you may question the reality of this statement, dear reader, but it is tragically factual.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed gathering the diffuse strands of consciousness when he toddles up cradling a bunch of bananas, dumping them unceremoniously in my lap with an expectant smile. So I peel the mostly likely looking and hand it to him. He toddles off happily.

Moments later he's back, mouth open and brow furrowed, displaying a mouthful of white paste and groaning

AAAAH AAAAH AAAAAH!

while waving the non-masticated segment of banana overhead.

"Well, spit it out!" I advise, holding out one open palm while rubbing my eyes with the other and poking around for my slippers. Not as helpful as I could be, but the first light of dawn rarely essays a flattering portrayal.

He stared at me and shook his head, mouth still open, now apparently in shock at my bizarre suggestion.

"If you don't like it throw it away," I advise.

"No, no!" he gurgles around the mouthful. "Dada, I'm HUNGRY!"

"Okay, we'll make something then, c'mon" I reply, seizing the unloved banana.

Wrong move!

He falls to the floor, caterwauling like a gut-shot boar and expelling the blob of masticated banana onto the carpet. I swiftly reverse course, proferring the banana. He howls, shoving it away.

"No, NO dada, too weird, it's too weird!"

"Alright, alright! I'll throw it away!" pulling back the banana and rising from the bed, exasperation creeping in around the edges.

Renewed shrieks, rising to a new piercing crescendo of misery.

"NO DADA, NO!"

"WHAT! WHAT IS IT! WHAT DO YOU WANT!" I exclaim.

"Wanna throw it away, wanna throw it away!"

"Okay, here! Here! You throw it away!"

This time he took the extended banana and ran down the hall toward the kitchen.


So, there's the first five minutes of my day.