We were enjoying a nice family dinner together when Kailey excused herself to go to the bathroom. As soon as she left, Kyra, suddenly overcome by a melancholy funk, set down her fork and grabbed her stomach. Our immediate thought was something along the lines of "SHE'S GONNA BLOW", but it turned out to be something completely different.
"Does your stomach hurt, Sweetie?" Diane asked.
"No, it's just something I pinkie-swore Kailey I wouldn't tell," she mumbled.
Diane and I shot each other that "parental" look. You know the one. The one that says, "Oh brother, here it comes."
"Why did you even bother pinkie-swearing if you're gonna just rat-out your sister?" I asked.
Diane shot me the parental look. Then she turned back to Kyra. "What did you do?" Kyra just whimpered. "Did you girls go into the wash?"
Kyra looked up with big, sad, droopy puppy dog eyes and nodded. "Mmmm hmmm."
Our community was built with a series of washes, or channels meant to collect rainwater. Here in the desert, a decent rain means the washes can fill in an instant. And it doesn't even have to rain in our community for the washes to fill. It can rain in the mountains and that rainwater will drain down into the city. Bottom line: it is not safe to play in the washes, especially for 7 and 9 year-olds.
The problem is that the girls' best friend lives right next to one of the outlets, and she has an older brother who likes to play in the wash. So they go down to play at their friend's house where everyone is playing in the wash that we have strictly forbidden the girls to enter. I have to admit that it would suck to be sitting outside the wash when all of your friends are playing IN the wash, the equivalent of going to Disneyland but denied access to the rides. But it would suck even more to be swept away in a flash flood, so we're sticking to our guns.
It was about this time that Kailey returned to the table, and when she realized that her little sister narked on her, her eyes blazed and practically ballooned out of her head. "Ky-RA!" We reiterated the evils of the wash and I tried my best to scare the hell out them with horror stories of being sucked down the wash by raging floodwaters. A little over-the-top, I know, but sometimes you do what you gotta do.
"At least she has a conscience," Diane reasoned.
True. And I'm choosing to cling to that positive character trait, because the thought of raising a stool pigeon just kills me.
"Does your stomach hurt, Sweetie?" Diane asked.
"No, it's just something I pinkie-swore Kailey I wouldn't tell," she mumbled.
Diane and I shot each other that "parental" look. You know the one. The one that says, "Oh brother, here it comes."
"Why did you even bother pinkie-swearing if you're gonna just rat-out your sister?" I asked.
Diane shot me the parental look. Then she turned back to Kyra. "What did you do?" Kyra just whimpered. "Did you girls go into the wash?"
Kyra looked up with big, sad, droopy puppy dog eyes and nodded. "Mmmm hmmm."
Our community was built with a series of washes, or channels meant to collect rainwater. Here in the desert, a decent rain means the washes can fill in an instant. And it doesn't even have to rain in our community for the washes to fill. It can rain in the mountains and that rainwater will drain down into the city. Bottom line: it is not safe to play in the washes, especially for 7 and 9 year-olds.
The problem is that the girls' best friend lives right next to one of the outlets, and she has an older brother who likes to play in the wash. So they go down to play at their friend's house where everyone is playing in the wash that we have strictly forbidden the girls to enter. I have to admit that it would suck to be sitting outside the wash when all of your friends are playing IN the wash, the equivalent of going to Disneyland but denied access to the rides. But it would suck even more to be swept away in a flash flood, so we're sticking to our guns.
It was about this time that Kailey returned to the table, and when she realized that her little sister narked on her, her eyes blazed and practically ballooned out of her head. "Ky-RA!" We reiterated the evils of the wash and I tried my best to scare the hell out them with horror stories of being sucked down the wash by raging floodwaters. A little over-the-top, I know, but sometimes you do what you gotta do.
"At least she has a conscience," Diane reasoned.
True. And I'm choosing to cling to that positive character trait, because the thought of raising a stool pigeon just kills me.
3 comments:
Reminds me of the time I held my stomach at the table and refused to tell because I promised my brother I wouldn't tell that he shot me. Yup. He shot me. Had a pellet in my stomach, but I promised.
You are a better man than I.
Did you promise him before he shot you or after he shot you? Because if I'm bleeding and my brother is pleading for me NOT to tell, all bets are off. I'm singing like a frickin' canary. Unless you got something really good out of the deal, like his GI Joe with the kung-fu grip. Or his Millennium Falcon. Or his Darryl Strawberry rookie card. Please tell me you got something totally sweet for not squealing! Otherwise, you're my new hero.
A mini-bike hung in th balance (for my brother). But I didn't make it through dinner before my parents realized I was too quiet. I went to the hospital to have the pellet removed - mini-bike: nixed on account of shooting little brother. Even thought he "didn't think" it was loaded.
Post a Comment