“Elizabeth, you have to take your medicine.”
Elizabeth storms from the kitchen. I don’t blame her, really. Cough medicine is the worst. In her bedroom I find her furiously scribbling a note. She holds it up to me while making an angry face.
HAT MOMY is written above a heart drawn on a heart-shaped card she cut out of printer paper. I read the card out loud.
“You hat me?” I ask.
“It’s not hat it’s HATE!” she corrects me.
I have to admit, it was a low-blow on my part because I already knew it was “hate.” Now she feels bad for being angry, for being misunderstood, and for misspelling a word. Yea, definitely a low-blow -- caused by a momentary lapse of confidence precipitated by the word HAT.
“Oh,” I say. “Well, at least you wrote it on a heart card. So you must not hat me too much,” I tease and smile hopefully. Elizabeth scowls, but doesn’t deny it. I resist the urge to taunt her by singing You love me, you love me! Instead, I promise all sorts of chocolate goodies to eradicate the forthcoming offensive medicinal brew. She acquiesces. We hug. All is well.
However, this gives me an idea. I imagine a commercial...
Yes, it’s the latest from Hallmark -- the Hate Heart Card.
Does your mother make you take medicine that tastes like cherry-flavored rat piss? Does she make you sleep? In bed? ALL NIGHT LONG? Does she interrupt your Dora computer game, just to eat dinner?
Then the Hate Heart card is perfect for those occasions when you hate your mother... almost.
Ahhh. I’ll treasure it always.
Comments
more of the same.
Like you, I so would have been unable to refrain from saying "You hat me? Whatever do you mean?"
myra
wemakethree.com