Scene: My bedroom. Time: 9:30 a.m.
Robert (leaning over me): Honey, I’ve got to leave. I have a doctor’s appointment.
Robert: Madalyn’s in the kitchen.
Robert: She’s juggling knives.
Robert: I think she’s doing a spleenectomy on the cat.
Robert: Okay…so. Leaving now.
Me: (pathetic whimper)
Time passes. Madalyn appears in the bedroom as I’m trying to shake the cobwebs loose. In the course of about ten minutes we cover, in depth, all of the following topics:
- Where do Indians live?
- Do they wear deerskin boots?
- What’s a canoe?
- Do Indians have canoes?
- What’s cornbread?
- What’s a spear?
- Do Indians ride wild horses?
- Where are there wild horses?
- Do Indians wear “hat things?” (headdresses, I guess)
- Her desire to see an Indian
- Her erroneous assumption that she’d “never seen an Indian around here.” (Um. Hi? Oklahoma?)
- Setting her straight that the Indian culture they discussed in school was, in fact, a really long time ago and that Indians now live in houses like ours and wear the same clothes we do.
- What came after dinosaurs? (Her: “Funny-looking mammals and saber-toothed tigers”)
- What happens to skin after an animal dies, in relation to why the bones in the museum don’t have skin on
- What happened to the dinosaurs?
- There were no people when dinosaurs were alive
- Whether or not there were dinosaurs in Oklahoma, Texas and California (Answered in the affirmative and left it at that; thought subject of Pangea and continental drift were a bit much for four-year-old)
At the conclusion of this discussion I am most decidedly awake. After having all of that fired at me I figure I’m pretty much ready for anything else the day had in store, and I get up. Proceed to spend the rest of the day seeking answers to less brain-intensive questions, such as: Is Domino’s new All-American Cheeseburger Pizza any good? (Yes) What happens when you don’t pay your Directv bill? (They shut it off right in the middle of the Card Sharks rerun you’re watching) Will my mom take my request that she buy the kids some clothes from the OshKosh outlet seriously? (Yet to be determined.) And, most importantly, why haven’t I ever found the Virgin Mary on a potato chip?? Some people have all the luck. Or all the drugs, anyway.