I got a splinter and blah blah Daddy hurt it really bad. i wish i never had a splinter…it felt really bad…daddy had to use a pin and tweezers…he was torchering me.
Erin’s 2 cents:
My favorite part was at the very beginning of this incident, where Chooch learned that he had a splinter in his foot. He very casually said, “Huh. My foot kind of hurts. Did I step on something?” As soon as I said the “s” word, he fucking FLIPPED HIS SHIT. He’s never had a splinter before so I’m not sure how he knew that this was going to turn from mildly irritating to OMG I’M BEING KILLED. Maybe it was a lunch table topic one day at school.
He just stood there yelling in front of me, so I said, “Um….go upstairs and tell daddy.”
Which loosely translates into “Tell your dad to deal with this shit.”
Moments later I heard this ungodly, high-pitched shriek so I ran upstairs to spectate. I mean, Chooch + Splinter + a tweezer-wielding Henry = Must See TV.
What I found was a red-faced child flailing on my bed. Henry, ignoring the melodrama, held him in one place with one hand clamped around his ankle, the other hand scraping away at the dead skin around the splinter. He looked so patient, his mouth pursed in quiet concentration. I don’t know Henry does it!
Meanwhile, Chooch’s head was tossed back, one hand draped across his forehead, and he was screaming, “I HATE YOU DADDY! I WISH THIS NEVER HAPPENED! DADDY YOU’RE HURTING ME!!!” It was the performance of a lifetime.
I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that we live in a duplex and our neighbors were very much home. I had to counter with my own yells: “IT’S JUST A SPLINTER! DADDY IS JUST TRYING TO HELP! PLEASE NEIGHBORS DON’T CALL THE POLICE!”
Moments later, the splinter had been extracted and Chooch’s tear ducts miraculously plugged themselves. After all that. Life went on.
An hour later, we were watching a man writhing in pain post-zombie attack on The Walking Dead. “He looks just like me after I got a splinter,” Chooch observed sadly, without an ounce of sarcasm.
The next morning, we were walking to school. I still had a limp from the Big Bowling Ball Boo-Boo, which Chooch noted and scoffed, “My limp is worse than your limp.”
“It totally is not!” I cried.
“Yeah, it is. My foot injury is way worse than yours,” he argued.
“You had a splinter. I had a BOWLING BALL DROPPED ON MY FOOT!!”
“Yeah,” he replied smugly. “And the splinter was worse.”
Yeah well….I wrote more sentences than him!