Family · Life

Sickie Boy (Or not.)

He was desperately ill, he said. He was SURE he was running a temperature. (Can you read it in the picture? If he’d consent to wear a shirt, he might even get up to the regulation 98.6.)


He was pretty certain that lying on the couch and playing with his tablet for a very long time would make him feel better. Oh, and eating candy would absolutely help.

“Really?” I said, “So if I would just let you do anything that you wanted and catered to your every whim, you wouldn’t feel so bad?”

“YES!” he shrieked, delighted that I’d finally gotten it.

Then there was a long pause, and then he said, with charm and warmth and hope even in the face of certain failure, “So are you gonna let me?!?”

He never gives up, that one. Him and Winston Churchill.

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