Recently I found myself wondering where my children may have gotten their thirst for mischief. After considerable thought and a few lost brain cells, I think I figured it out, but I will let you be the judge.
One day a few years ago I gave in to the idea from my dear wife to go to the mall. We had walked all day and had been in every single store, it seemed. I was exhausted and wanted to just go home or at least sit down. I whined and complained until finally I thought I had her talked into going to the car. She was just about to say “Okay, we can go” when all of the sudden her demeanor changed. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as if she had seen a great and mystical light, angels singing, and fireworks exploding in the distance. It looked as if she began floating just a few inches off the ground in the direction of the light. (Around our house we call this “O.K.D.” instead of “A.D.D.”, which stands for “Oooo Kitty Disease”.)
What could this be? Guys, you know what I am talking about. She saw “Bed, Bath, Body, Buckets, Beads, and Beyond” or something like that. I am not sure what the name of the store is but I do know it didn’t have the words golf or hardware in it. You would have thought heaven’s gates had opened. “Oh my goodness!” she innocently exclaimed. “We have to go in here. It will only take a second!” I followed submissively as I mumbled under my breath how she wasn’t the boss of me.
Twenty or thirty minutes later and after she had looked at every possible product, we were headed for the door. A bottle of conditioner caught her eye and she stopped me and took the cap off the bottle. “Smell this.” she said. (Note that she didn’t ask.) As directed, I leaned over and sniffed as she positioned the open bottle under my nose. “Strawberry,” I thought. That is the last thing I remember before the burning began.
Toni had the bright idea that it would be funny to squeeze the bottle as I inhaled. I remember her laughing herself to tears as I snorted up what seemed to be a half bottle of hair conditioner. Choking and gagging and trying to see through my own tears, I staggered out of the store hoping to quickly find a bathroom. She thought it was hilarious. “Hey!,” she offered, “At least the hairs in your nose will be soft!” and then she doubled over laughing again, holding her side that had begun to cramp.
She tells me much to often that I am a trained monkey but I think this borders on animal abuse. To this day she says it was an accident. What do you think?
God bless and keep you.