That's My Boy

Sometimes life doesn't prepare you for the little heartburns that come traipsing along, humming a little song under its breath with a wicked smile on its face.

Last Sunday, I fed The Son half a bowl of chilled beancurd, ate a few spoonfuls myself, then after getting a consensus from The Son that he wanted no more, put the plastic container with the beancurd leftovers in the dog bowl in the kitchen. Last thing I saw was the dog's head descending into the bowl, tongue sticking out and quivering in fevered anticipation of said beancurd.

Then I went into the bathroom to get ready to go out, and just like any other woman in the same position, did not emerge until a good half hour later.

I walked into the living room, all fresh and ready for a new day.... to see The Son sitting at the table, on his little stool, feeding himself from a plastic bowl of beancurd whilst The Husband watches him, beaming with fatherly pride. He was actually patting my son on the back.

Where did that bowl of beancurd come from? I asked the person who had been the sole supervisor of my first and only child for the last half hour.

Oh. He walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of beancurd, said he wanted to eat it, so I gave him a spoon.

I think I gave that to Angus earlier.

Oh did you? Don't worry. I don't think Angus even touched it.

[Sometime later, I am alone with my son, the father is nursing his head wounds elsewhere]

Bo, honey, did you like your beancurd?

Yes.

Bo, where did you get your beancurd?

From Aggis.

So what was Aggis doing when you took the beancurd?

He was ricking it.