Zach loves slimy things. I know, it's common with little boys, but I think this boy should be awarded an honorary doctorate in slimology. Our house is full of the most disgustingly creepy, cold wiggling things this side of the everglades. And they get paraded all over, sometimes coming to rest on the back of a neck, making us jump in horror. Other times they are just left on a chair to stick to an unsuspecting rear-end a little later in the day.
He has a vast array of slimy things: eyes, hands, and other body parts, bugs, snakes, worms, as well as many indeterminate, more horrifying forms. Basically, giant blobs of goo in all colors, but mostly a sickly tone of grey-green, pregnant with accumulated dirt and dog hair (this adds to their charm, of course).
And he never gets tired of these things. He will ogle and handle them for hours on end. We have a very strict ban on slimy, germ-infested things at the dinner table, but it doesn't stop him from trying to smuggle them in occasionally.
Maybe it's a phase. Or maybe we have the makings of a career here. Just don't talk about work at supper, ok, Z?
1 comment:
I couldn't find "vermicious" in the dictionary. Did you make it up?
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