The Doctor’s Apology

Last night, I left work and picked up Kat to take her to my brother and sister-in-law’s party.  They were celebrating not only their birthdays, but were announcing the sex of their kid-to-be (a boy, turns out).  TJ was feeling puny and had to sit it out.  We showed up an hour late since I had to calm my stomach and nerves before leaving.  For some reason, I’ve had a lot of anxiety and no good way of controlling it, and the colitis isn’t helping.  Chalk it up to surgery recovery.

Kat and I drove out to their house in Olathe.  From the moment we stepped in the door, a crowd of kids ran by and absorbed her into their mass and were gone.  She stayed there for a few hours, only surfacing to fill her face with chocolate.

I eventually remembered to feed the beast, but by then she’d already grabbed a chocolate chip cookie.  Later we appeared in the snack room at the same time, and I interrogated her on her eating habits.

A cookie and a brownie. 

Is that all?

Of course not! she eyed me incredulously.  She’d had chips, too.  She’s not stupid.

This was a Parental Moment, I decided.  I nodded to the veggie tray: two veggies of her choice, three pieces each.

Kat’s going to be a lawyer someday.   The legal battle raged over the verbal contract we’d forged:

How many pieces had you said? How about half of that? No?

Well, these broccoli – I only like the top half.  Can you see my predicament?

Okay, that’s the last straw – the ranch sauce is too spicy.   My tounge’s very delicate, after all.  And as a kid, you really can’t expect me to eat veggies without ranch, can you? You can? Well.

There it is; three broccolis and one carrot.  Three of each!? No, hold up, you said “like” three of each.  Oh, you meant exactly three of each.  Clarity, people!

After Kat reenacted Socrates’ hemlock scene with carrots and a bowl of dip, I let her go.  She transformed back into the Doctor, avoiding the boys who had been turned into Weeping Angels.

The rest of the night went well.  The women in the family were discussing Fifty Shades of Grey, which caused the menfolk no end of sheepish shoe-gazing.  I congratulated the parents-to-be and marveled at the bounty of babies that had cropped up all through my brother’s social group.  Rowan earned her lightning bug catching Lil’ Time Lord badge.  We went home tired, greeted a recovering TJ, and passed out.

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