I was going to guess a calf on its way to veal slaughter, but judging from the high pitch, I'm thinking it's something smaller.
Quinn, let me ask you something. You know that part of Frosty the Snowman where the crossing guard is so shocked at seeing a living snowman follwed by a parade of faithful elementary school-aged minions that he swallows his whistle, and then the only thing he can manage to vocalize are hundreds of little black whistle music notes floating up into the cartoon winter sky?
Well, here's what I'm wondering: Did you swallow a shrieking gibbon? Because even though I know you have a spectacular grasp of the English language, and that you understand every word coming out of my mouth, and EVEN that you have the will power to quietly endure an hour and a half worth of your dad's attempts to update his website while you dump all the toys I hid in Bryce's closet out ALL OVER THE FORMERLY CLEAN ROOM, you seem to have formed this new eardrum-bursting habit of screeching like a torture victim when you disapprove of something. Items and events which meet with your disapproval are not always predictable. You see my dilemma.
Tonight after dinner, Bryce tried a peppermint patty, so you wanted to try one. Even though you've never liked anything sugary or sweet in your entire life, we gave in, fearing more hearing loss if we refused. You ate one tiny bite and then refused to eat any more, but you didn't want to let go of that damned peppermint patty, did you, despite the cheap melting chocolate all over your fingers? And you didn't want to explain WHY or have a conversation about it, did you? NO. Why explain when you can break windows with the deafening vibration of your freakishly strong gibbon vocal chords?
Quinn, the Silvery Gibbon is an endangered species. You have to send it back to the wild where it belongs. If you must ingest something in the vein of the Frosty the Snowman Crossing Guard, why not try a lovely, gurgling fish? You could have those cool *plop* *bloop* *splop* bubbles around your head when you're objecting to something.
That sounds good to me. What do you think? Quinn? Oh no. Nonononononono, please not the shriek. NOT THE SHRIEK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!!
Well, here's what I'm wondering: Did you swallow a shrieking gibbon? Because even though I know you have a spectacular grasp of the English language, and that you understand every word coming out of my mouth, and EVEN that you have the will power to quietly endure an hour and a half worth of your dad's attempts to update his website while you dump all the toys I hid in Bryce's closet out ALL OVER THE FORMERLY CLEAN ROOM, you seem to have formed this new eardrum-bursting habit of screeching like a torture victim when you disapprove of something. Items and events which meet with your disapproval are not always predictable. You see my dilemma.
Tonight after dinner, Bryce tried a peppermint patty, so you wanted to try one. Even though you've never liked anything sugary or sweet in your entire life, we gave in, fearing more hearing loss if we refused. You ate one tiny bite and then refused to eat any more, but you didn't want to let go of that damned peppermint patty, did you, despite the cheap melting chocolate all over your fingers? And you didn't want to explain WHY or have a conversation about it, did you? NO. Why explain when you can break windows with the deafening vibration of your freakishly strong gibbon vocal chords?
Quinn, the Silvery Gibbon is an endangered species. You have to send it back to the wild where it belongs. If you must ingest something in the vein of the Frosty the Snowman Crossing Guard, why not try a lovely, gurgling fish? You could have those cool *plop* *bloop* *splop* bubbles around your head when you're objecting to something.
That sounds good to me. What do you think? Quinn? Oh no. Nonononononono, please not the shriek. NOT THE SHRIEK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!!
Labels: chaos rules
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