Funny how sometimes, one thing can lead to something completely different. Yesterday at our house, it went from carving large birds to killer dolls.
You see, Thanksgiving is coming, and like so many others, we are having a bunch of people over for dinner tomorrow, which means we’ve started cooking.
Potatoes, corn, asparagus, turnip, carrots, pumpkin pie, stuffing, and of course, turkey. We cooked one last night, and we’ll make another one tomorrow just so we have enough. People eat like horses around here. At least Charles does.
Anyway, we were preparing the bird, when the talk of big knives began…
“I wouldn’t want to be stabbed with a big knife.” It was my husband, stating what is probably a sentiment most people would agree with. I mean, I don’t think anyone likes getting stabbed.
“No, me neither,” I replied.
“Especially not by a little person,” he went on.
“Little person? How likely is that?” What was he talking about? My husband is strange sometimes. “Well, at least they probably couldn’t jab you very hard,” I answered. No matter what, I try to go with the flow. “Nor could they likely reach beyond your waist – like they couldn’t stab you in the heart – unless of course, they were standing on a chair, but then that would take time to organize. You could run away by then.”
“Chucky. I just don’t like Chucky.” His eyes were big. He looked afraid.
“That doll from the horror movie in the 80’s?” Ah, so now I understood. It was like he was reliving his childhood again, except when the movie came out, he was nineteen. I needed to help him out.
“Chucky is from New Jersey. How’s a toddler supposed to get to where we live?” Logic. I hit ’em with it every time, and it usually makes things better. Lucky for me, at that moment, it did, and we could get on with the holiday.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He let out a big sigh of relief, and went back to cooking.
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