Chihuahua in my pants
Friday night. Bedtime. Rissa wriggles spasmodically under her blankets.
“I’ve got something in my pants!”
Sigh. “What do you have in your pants?”
“A sliver or something!”
“A sliver? How can you have a sliver?”
“I don’t know, maybe from the dance studio.”
Stalling. She is stalling the bedtime process.
“Just ignore it.”
“Ignore it?!? … IGNORE it?!? If I had a Chihuahua in my pants would you tell me to just IGNORE it? Would you tell me to worry about it in the morning?!?”
“WHAT?”
“Seriously, what if it was a… cannibalistic Chihuahua…?”
“WHAT?”
“If it was a cannibalistic Chihuahua… and there was… was… say a Golden Retriever… NO! A GREAT DANE down there too…”
“You’re telling me that there is now a Chihuahua and a Golden Retriever AND a Great Dane in your pants?”
“No, only a cannibalistic Chihuahua and a Great Dane – I needed complete opposite dogs to make an example. Plus, after I said the word ‘cannibalistic’ I realized that the chihuahua couldn’t be attacking me, I had to have another dog down there for it to attack.”
“So you have a Chihuahua and a Great Dane in your pants?”
She then rolls her eyes at me. “Of course not, but if I DID, you would just want me not to worry about them in my pants?”
Face palm.