Thursday, October 23, 2008

Clone me. Clone me, now.

Sick child.
Needs a great many things.
Needs each one now.
Simultaneously.

"I'm cold. Could you get my bathrobe?"
"I'm weak. I think I'm going to pass out if I don't eat something."
"I can't move my chair."
"How many of these pills can I take?"

Dude!
If you want any one of those things, you have to let me finish one before you ask for another.

Dang!
I get halfway down to hall to fetch a robe when I get yanked back by the horrifying sound of meds being shaken out of a bottle.
No sooner do I get a plate in the microwave than he decides he's too tired to sit and eat it.

When's my sick day?
And who's going to get my robe for me? Huh?

Thbbbt.

2 comments:

Chaz said...

and how old is this child?

Roses said...

Chaz: He's 11. Old enough to know better.

Perhaps the proper question is: How old am *I*? and which one of us is in charge?

Thbbbt.