A Sweet Offer
I’m not having any Julie Andrews fantasies here; this isn’t the Sound of Music. It would sure help my self-esteem if Monsieur would just throw me down on my bed, rip off my nightgown and plow me like he’s a cultivator tool and I’m five acres of rich bottom land.
On the plus side, Middle Boy has asked me for my hand in matrimony.
Well, he wasn’t quite so formal; rather he said, “Can I be your husband?”
Of course I had to turn him down. But how?
“Oh, [Middle Boy] I’m sure you’d make a wonderful husband. But I’m not really old enough to be married right now.”
“When will you be old enough?”
“Maybe when I’m fifty or so.”
“Fifty is old.”
“Yeah, it is. I think you should try with someone who wants to get married when you’re ready for it, and don’t wait for me.”
Biggest Boy piped up. “[Middle Boy], you’re not gonna get married.”
“I am too. I’m gonna be a guy, and drive a car and be a daddy and a husband too!” his little voice squeaked.
“Oh, you are not,” Biggest Boy said.
Screamed, “I AM!!! I’m gonna be a Husband!!!! ”
Of course, I am the voice of reason. “[Middle Boy], you can be whatever you want: a daddy, a husband, or a truck driver. Right now, you’re a big brother AND a little brother, and it’s time for you to brush your teeth.”
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