Having a kid

You go into the kitchen to pluck a piece of leftover steak from the platter. Or get a beer. Or an aspirin. Or to retrieve the phone.

You find this on the countertop.

The discovery eclipses your yen for a mouthful of steak.

First there is bewilderment, then curiosity. Further inspection reveals the ensemble to be an unidentified pink blob floating in clear liquid (presumably water) in a plastic bag in a bowl.

Your power of deductive reasoning kicks in. Since the atrocity is not in your best crystal bowl, it is unlikely that your Dearly Beloved is the creative force behind it. Your nine-year-old, however, has enough sense to put the grossness in a plastic dish. Plus, the elaborate nature of the containment smacks of, well, you, and therefore your offspring.

"Kid?" you holler in your Mom Voice. "Kid?" It always takes three repititions to pull same from the gravitational force of Spongebob Squarepants*.

"KID!"

Your kid comes into the kitchen and stands before you in mud-covered ill-fitting jeans and a tee-shirt stained with magic maker. She's looks up at you, blinking. "Yeah, Mom?"

Your skills of Inquisition reveal that the unidentified blob is no less than ten pieces of Berrylicious gum chewed "a lot--but not to the no-flavor part, but to like just before that."

"Why is it in a bag of water?" you ask.

"See if it grows."

You look at the blob. You look at your kid. Your kids looks at you.

You sigh.

The ten pieces of Berrylicious gum that have not been chewed all the way to the no-flavor part in a bag of water on your kitchen counter have not grown yet.

It's been ten days.

* * *

*Despite my flippant tone, I believe Spongebob Squarepants to be one of the finest cartoons of our day, with fully realized characters, dry wit and good storyboards.