Okay, we all know Olive has the relative IQ of a deck chair.
But what creative new anti-genius she has shown me! In the bleak stretches of the post-midnight hours, no less.
Recently I had been awakened several times in the middle of the night by an echo-y choking sound. Being less than clear-headed during these hours, I managed to stumble up out of the bed and shuffle around trying to figure out which of my children was in need of emergency medical assistance. Each time I failed to discover the source of the mysterious noise.
Finally one night I realized the wheezing sounds were coming from the master bathroom. I flipped on the light switch and there was Olive, curled up in the middle of the tub. She gazed up at me innocently. Figuring she had been hacking up a hairball in my tub I scowled, mumbled “Die quietly, willya?” and shuffled back to bed.
The minute I drifted back to sleep the yacking sounds resumed.
Muttering dire imprecations into my pillow, I waited for the damn hairball to be evicted so I could get some sleep. No luck.
“I’m about to throw you to the evil nocturnal suburban crocodiles, Olive,” I growled, getting up for the second time. “You can hack up your hairballs outside, [expletives deleted].”
Snapping on the bathroom light, I finally saw what was really happening. “I do NOT believe this,” I told her. “You are croc fodder, furball.”
We — and by “we” I mean the Husband — keep a tupperware container (sometimes several) in our little-used bathtub. When we take a shower it takes a while for the water to come out hot, so he captures the initial gallon or so of cold water, leaves it in a container in the tub, then uses it to fill the toilet tank next time he flushes it. He loves conservation.
Anyway, there is often a container of water sitting in our tub. Henry (our smart but grouchy orange cat) often comes in the bathroom to drink from these. And what Henry does, Olive wants to do. Except for one small problem. Now and then, one of the containers is only half full.
And since there are simply no marshmallows in Olive’s Lucky Charms, she was trying to drink from a container with only a little water down in the bottom. Effectively choking herself to death. In the middle of the night. Repeatedly.
So now the Husband has received a Sound-Sleeping Mandate, delivered in stern tones by Yours Truly, to NEVER Leave Any of the Tupperwares Partly Full.
Given that Olive’s driveway doesn’t quite reach the road.
(Enjoy the slug on this post, coder friends.)
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